Signs and Portents
by Argonaut57
Summary: It is a New Age for the Galaxy, seventy years after the Reaper War. Veteran Spectre Commander Vega is sent to the Terminus Systems to investigator the loss of several ships. But the arrival of new races and sinister strangers on the Councils new space station present a different threat. The year is 2258, the name of the place is Babylon 5.
1. Chapter 1

**Signs and Portents**

 **Chapter One**

 _Authors' Note: According to ME canon, the average lifespan for humans, turians and quarians at the time of the Reaper War was around 150 Standard years. So by 2258, the characters from the ME games would be in their nineties or at most early hundreds. No longer young, but far from decrepit!_

Vega arrived in CIC a little behind the others. Like most Spectres, he seldom wore his dress uniform, and it had needed a little sprucing before he could leave his cabin. The _Iwo Jima_ was orbiting about 2000 kilometres out from the Serpent Nebula Relay, in company with the turian cruiser _Adrien Victus_.

"Why so far out?" Captain Traynor was asking. "Won't it look as if we're suspicious?"

"I used to be a pilot, remember?" Admiral Moreau told her. "When you're coming through a relay, there's always some drift. We don't know just where they'll pop out. Don't want to start the party with a collision!"

"Besides, we _are_ just a little suspicious." Vega added. "New race, new Embassy. It hasn't happened in a while. Means a full Council meeting, for one thing. Lots of security issues. That's why I'm gonna be escorting the Ambassador."

The Admiral turned with a grin. "Hey, James!" He said. "They told me there was gonna be a Spectre in the party. They never said it was you!"

The two men shook hands. "Hey, Joker, you still an Admiral?" Vega asked. "Surprised they haven't busted you back down to Flight Lieutenant yet!"

"I keep trying." Joker admitted. "Doesn't feel right to be in CIC with somebody else in the cockpit. But EDI keeps making me behave!"

"Someone has to." Remarked the curvaceous synthetic who had been standing next to the Admiral. She stepped forward and embraced Vega briefly but warmly. "It is good to see you, James. I understand they have been keeping you busy?"

"Yeah." James averred. "Even with the Reapers gone, the Galaxy ain't a safe place."

"That's for sure!" Joker agreed. "Right, we got a little time, so EDI, give us a rundown on what we know about these minbari?"

"Very well, Jeff. The minbari were first encountered some thirty years ago when they came through a relay on the edge of asari space. That first ship was a military one, and there was a good deal of mutual caution at first, but no overt hostility. It seems the minbari had, in common with many other races, discovered a cache of Prothean material and had thus been able to develop the Mass Effect. However, the systems they occupied at the time contained very few sources of Element Zero. The exploration vessel was seeking more of these.

"Over the next decade, the asari helped the minbari locate more viable sources of Element Zero within their sector, so that they were able to expand their fleet and settle more worlds.

"The asari then brought the matter to the attention of the Council, who granted the minbari trading rights and a consulate on B5. Matters have now proceeded to a point where the Council feels confident in offering the minbari associate status and a full Embassy.

"Minbari society is divided into three castes: Workers, Warriors and Religious. The Religious caste assume the diplomatic function, so the Ambassador we are about to meet will be of that caste. Note that Element Zero does not have the mutagenic effect on minbari that it does on other races. There are no minbari biotics. However, five per cent of the population do exhibit some level of telepathic ability. It makes some people – even among the minbari - uneasy, but apparently the telepaths are strictly regulated by the Religious caste."

"Thanks, EDI." Joker said. "Now, this is how it's gonna work. The minbari ship will come through the relay. Once we're all clear, the _Iwo Jima_ will dock with the minbari ship and the ambassador and two aides will come aboard. We take them to B5, dock in the military section and Commander Vega will escort the diplomatic party onto the station and stay with them until the Embassy is confirmed.

"Meanwhile, the _Adrien Victus_ escorts the minbari ship to the civilian docks and waits with them until the all-clear is given and they can dock.

"All good? OK, Captain, over to you!"

Shortly after that, the Mass Relay flared into life and a ship appeared some distance off.

"About 1100 klicks drift." Joker noted. "Not bad! Not as good as me, but not bad!"

The ship was unlike those of any other race Vega had seen. Its vertical axis was longer than both horizontal ones, giving it the appearance of an angel fish.

"Captain!" Called a crew-member. "The minbari ship just opened its gun-ports!"

"That's OK." Traynor replied. "It was in the briefing. They do that to show respect. Open ours and signal the turians to do the same. No sense being rude!"

"We will leave that to James and Jeff." EDI commented quietly.

Joker shot a wry look at Vega, who responded with a shrug that said _You married her!_

"Captain, we are being hailed!"

"Patch it through."

The man who appeared on the holo-projection didn't look like a ship captain. Medium height, slender build, wearing robes in quiet earth tones. He was hairless, with some kind of bony growth or crest covering the back of his head and apparently carved along its upper edge. His face was round, with a snub nose, a gentle mouth and soft, kind eyes. His voice was a light tenor.

"Alliance frigate, this is Captain Rennen of the diplomatic vessel _Spirit of Valenn_ , requesting approach vector."

" _Spirit of Valenn_ , this is Captain Samantha Traynor, commanding Human Alliance frigate _Iwo Jima_. Good to see you. Continue present course and speed, we will join you shortly."

The pilots of both ships clearly knew their trade, as the matching of course and velocity to implement docking was both quick and flawless. Captain Traynor met the diplomatic party and led them to the conference room.

The leader of the minbari delegation was a diminutive woman in pastel robes, with a pointed face and dark, unreadable eyes. She placed a hand over her heart and bowed her head.

"Greetings, I am Ambassador Delenn of the Minbari Confederation. This is my aide, Lennier," a slight, compact man with youthful features, "and my advisor, Kosh Nouriani."

Kosh was not a minbari, or if he was, it was hard to tell. He wore a large and cumbersome-looking costume composed partly of organic-looking plastic and partly of some heavy fabric. From the massive shoulder-piece there emerged a slender neck supporting a head similar in general outline to that of a geth.

"Kosh is a vorlon," Delenn hastened to explain. "One of the few survivors of an ancient and all-but extinct race. He and some fifty of his kind were found adrift in a crippled ship on the edge of the Forbidden Zone fifty years ago. We gave them asylum on Minbar, and in return they share the accumulated wisdom of their millennia of civilisation."

The vorlon stirred. A sound came from it that resembled a kind of sibilant chiming. Over this, a voice that was deep, even, distant and clearly artificial said: "We are few, and we are dying. We share what we can before the end, to seek absolution."

Nobody knew quite how to respond to this pronouncement, so Joker, as ranking officer, replied to Delenn.

"Ambassador, welcome aboard. I'm Admiral Jeffrey Moreau, this is my adjutant, Commander EDI Moreau. Captain Traynor you've met, and this is Commander James Vega, of the Councils' Special Tactics and Reconnaissance corps. Commander Vega will be your escort until after the ceremony.

"Please take a seat, we have a short time before we dock at B5, so if you want to ask any questions, please feel free."

Delenn and Lennier both sat. The vorlon, however, drew off a short distance and stood by the window, apparently gazing out into space.

Delenn looked at EDI. "If you will excuse me satisfying some personal curiosity first. I understood that in defeating the Reapers, all other AIs and synthetics had also been destroyed. Yet our legation reports that at least one race of synthetics exists and is part of your civilisation, and I see before me a synthetic member of your crew. Is there something we have missed? Or not been told?"

"The former, I assume." EDI replied. "The data is readily available. The geth programmes that worked on the Crucible Project predicted the probable effect of the weapons' use. In order to safeguard their survival, they backed themselves up into an offline archive on Rannoch. Once the danger was passed, the archive went online and downloaded the software into surviving platforms.

"As for myself, I was originally part of the operating systems on the _Normandy_ SR-2. As such, my software was regularly saved in the offline backup system. When the pulse from the Crucible blanked the ships' systems, the backups came online and I came with them, suffering only a partial loss of recent memory. This platform had been badly damaged, however, and some repair was necessary before I could download myself into it again."

Delenn nodded. "I see. It doesn't surprise me that I wasn't aware of this. The Religious and Worker castes among our people have always opposed the creation of AIs and synthetic workers, for reasons both spiritual and economic. They would be reluctant to approach any such individuals for fear of giving offence."

Joker frowned. "The Geth Consensus has an embassy on B5. Will you have any problems dealing with Ambassador Locutus and its people?"

Delenn smiled. "No, that will not be a problem. The issues we have with AIs and synthetics are unique to our culture. We are not arrogant enough to expect other races to conform to our practices and beliefs. An entire race of synthetics is something my people will find difficult to believe, but it will not anger or offend them.

"Commander Vega, the reputation of the Spectre corps is known to us. I admit to expecting a much more sinister figure than the soldier I see here!"

Vega shrugged. "No two Spectres are alike, Ambassador. We're chosen for our skills and our commitment to supporting the Council and its aims for a peaceful, law-abiding Galaxy. So, yeah, some of us are sinister, some of us are weird, and some are just regular guys who are better than most at what we do.

"Me, I fought alongside Commander Shepard in the Reaper War – I was part of the Hammer force that fought the ground battle in London. Then I got into N7, did a lot of work during the Reconstruction when things were real messy. Then I was in the Vorcha Wars, fighting alongside the krogan. After that, they made me a Spectre and I've been even busier!

"Being escort to a diplomatic party is kinda downtime for me, y'know?"

"I see, well I hope I may count on you for more than notional protection, Commander." Delenn said. "I must admit that I had been on retreat for some years when I was summoned to this role a few days ago. I have been provided with a great deal of briefing material, which I have yet to read all of. I was told that it would be best to come to this new era for our people with a 'clean mind' and no preconceptions, but there are some things I may need to ask you.

"Firstly, can you fill in the details of todays' programme? I have only a sketch."

OK." Vega said. "Well in a few minutes, we'll dock at Babylon 5, in the military area, for security. From there, we'll take a transport to the Embassy District on Zakera Ward. You'll go to the Minbari Embassy to have a quick look round, see your office and meet the staff. Then you have a meeting with the Ambassadors from the other associated species. Basically an introduction session, names and faces, shouldn't take more than an hour. From there we go to the Presidium where there'll be a short ceremony. The Councillors will ask you some formal questions -you'll be given the answers, it's all pre-agreed with your people. The Council will take a pro-forma vote, and you'll be formally accredited as Ambassador for the Minbari Confederation, which will now be recognised as an associate race under asari mentorship."

"Mentorship?" Lennier asked. "What is mentorship?"

"It means," Joker told him, "that the asari will be available to you for advice and guidance on your dealings with other races and to make sure nobody takes advantage of the new guys until they know the rules. It also means that if you want anything taking to the full Council, the asari will speak for you. And if any other race complains to the Council about you, the asari will be your advocates.

"Finally, of course, if you get out of line, the asari will be responsible for reining you back in! So be thankful you met them first instead of the krogan!"

"Thank you for that." Delenn noted.

Then the voice of the XO came over the intercom. "Captain, we are about to dock."

Contrary to his usual habit, Vega let the car drive itself to the Embassy district while he kept an eye out for trouble. Not that he was expecting any – there'd been no extranet chatter or other intel -but he wasn't taking anything for granted.

"This is quite a remarkable structure, Commander." Delenn remarked. "I understand it to be a replacement for an older one?"

"A few, actually." Vega told her. "The original station – the Citadel, they called it – was actually built by the Reapers as a mass relay into dark space. They used to emerge here, knowing that the most advanced races of that Cycle would have centred their civilisation on the Citadel – basically it was a trap designed to ensure that resistance to the Reapers was minimised. The Protheans figured that out, though, and sabotaged the Citadels' relay function. The Reapers tried to repair it, but we stopped them.

"Then at the end of the Reaper War, the Reapers dragged the citadel into Earth orbit when they found out it was the missing part of the Crucible weapon. But Shepard managed to get aboard the Citadel from Earth and open the arms. The Crucible docked, and the weapon powered up and took the Reapers out.

"The Citadel was pretty banged up, and left in Earth orbit. We managed to salvage one of the arms. Called it the Babylon Station and the Council used it for the next ten years while we got the relays repaired. By that time it was obvious that Babylon was falling apart, so they decided to build a new station, here in the old place, Babylon 2.

"It was meant to be a full-scale replica of the Citadel, but the project was too damn big. Twenty years to build and it didn't last five before it just fell apart. So they salvaged what they could and built a smaller station, Babylon 3. But then then the Vorcha War started and they hit Babylon 3 hard, pretty much wrecked the place.

"So then the plan was to build two stations. Babylon 4 was a battle-station, designed to protect the civilian one, Babylon 5. But something weird happened. The day before the inauguration, every alarm in B4 went off. Everybody evacuated, and then the whole damn station just vanished - flickered and went out like a holo in a power cut!

"Rather than waste more time and money building a sixth station, the Council just added more to B5 to accommodate the military, and here we are! B5 is about three-quarters the size of the old Citadel and around five million people from God knows how many species live and work here. Everyone from diplomats and millionaires to the duct-rats we can never seem to get rid of.

"Embassies coming up!"

Everything had gone without a hitch, unsurprisingly, and the minbari were now officially an associate race of the Council. There had been the usual half-hearted grumble from the volus ambassador about why his race – the third, he pointedly reminded them, to reach the Citadel - was yet to be granted a Council seat. The krogan Councillor had pointed out that the vorcha had made the same demand, and look what happened to them! Urdnot Grunt was the nearest thing his people had to a polished diplomat, and he certainly had a way of bringing people round to his viewpoint!

That out of the way, Vega had excused himself from the reception afterward. His presence was no longer necessary, and he had little time for stuffed shirts and less for diplomatic double-talk. He exchanged greetings with the Stations' Alliance CO, Colonel Sinclair, under whom he'd served in the Vorcha War, and the Head of B5 Security, Commander Garibaldi, before heading for the apartment the Council kept for him here.

A quick change, and Vega hit Zakera Ward. Some shopping -upgrades for his armour and omni-tool – a meal and a beer or two made him feel almost human again. He was thinking about hitting up Purgatory or Fusion when a call from an old friend brought him back to the Presidium.

The residence of the turian Councillor was a typically plain and severe building by contrast with the graceful asari house on one side and the imposing classical krogan edifice on the other. Inside, it was equally Spartan: every turian either was or had been a soldier and was expected to live in that simple style.

The private rooms to which Vega was shown were a little different. Still austere, but comfortable. Panelled walls from Earth, landscape paintings depicting scenes from both Palaven and Rannoch. An old M-98 Widow sniper rifle hung over the fireplace in the study.

The couple who greeted him warmly were at once two of the most respected and controversial figures on B5.

Councillor Garrus Vakarian, of the Turian Hierarchy, was a former C-Sec operative turned vigilante turned Special Advisor to the turian military. One of the first people to believe in Commander Shepard about Saren and the Reapers, Garrus' loyalty to his human friend had almost cost him everything. That, and his cavalier approach to rules. After the Reaper War, Garrus had been made a General, and his unorthodox approach had been valued during the chaotic period of reconstruction. Later, as times settled to normal, the Hierarchy decided that the best way to utilise their wild-card General was to capitalise on his experience with other species, so they had made him a Councillor. And got him out of their crests.

His companion, and lover, Tali'Zorah vas Normandy, was the quarian Councillor and another friend and follower of Commander Shepard from the early days. Unlike many of her people since the reclamation of Rannoch, Tali had continued to use her 'ship name'. She had been dubbed 'vas Normandy' as a jibe at a time when she had been under investigation for treason to the Migrant Fleet. Later, as an Admiral, she had kept the name as a way to show her disinterest in Fleet internal politics. Now she used it as a memorial to her old friend and Commander.

For two Councillors to be in an acknowledged relationship was unusual, but as Garrus had pointed out, it was at least more honest than the salarian Councillors discreet asari 'therapist' or the asari Councillors' 'private meetings' with Colonel Sinclair! After that, nobody felt like objecting.

"First things first!" Garrus said, handing Vega a glass of whiskey. Tali was already holding her turian brandy and now Garrus raised his glass.

"Here's to us." He said.

"Who's like us?" James asked.

"Damn few," Tali finished, "and they're all dead!"

They drank, then sat down.

"OK." Garrus said. "Kaidan and Grunt say hello and sorry they can't be here. Both of them have other things to see to."

"Besides," Tali added. "we try not to all meet up too often. The other Councillors call us 'Shepards' Gang' and they think we're plotting against them!"

"Not quite." Garrus amended. "Well, the salarian Councillor might. Matriarch Galina is just a little sulky because the asari aren't top dogs in the Council any more. Time was, they got the final say in most things, but now…"

"Humanity and your people took the brunt of the Reaper attack, and both the asari and salarians were slow to commit to the war." James said. "People remember that, especially the associates."

"Which is why," Tali told him, "they've been in such a rush to raise the minbari to associate status. They need a client race to back them up in there. The volus will back the turian view, because both their economies depend on it. The hanar and elcor both go their own way and the geth will support both human and quarian initiatives. The vorcha lost their Embassy and the batarians are dying out. The fact is, the asari don't have a dependable voice in the embassy quarter, they're afraid their influence is waning."

"But that's not why we asked you here, James. We wanted to see you again, sure, but we need your help as well."

"About the minbari?" Vega asked. "'Cause they seem decent people."

"Most of them are." Tali allowed. "The Workers and Religious, anyway. Seems that some of the Warrior-caste clans aren't any too happy about their connection to the asari and the associate status. They think they should have built up their military for a few years, then come in force and demanded a Council seat. We might have trouble from them down the line.

"But the problem is clear over the other side of the Galaxy. Ships are going missing in the Terminus Systems. At least five in the last two months."

"What, again?" Vega growled. "Who is it this time?"

"That's what we need to know." Garrus told him. "Back in the day, we'd have said batarian slavers, but the batarians don't have the means or the energy anymore.

"Shepard blew the Collector Base to Hell, Harbinger is dead and the Omega Relay was never rebuilt, so that's out. Could be the vorcha, but the krogan keep a pretty sharp eye on them and Wrex hates slavers.

"But the Terminus Systems are called that because they mark the furthest point of explored space. We don't know what might be out there."

"What about the mercs?" Vega asked.

Garrus shrugged. "The Blood Pack were wiped out in the Reaper War. Eclipse are what they always were -a crime syndicate. Mostly drugs, protection and arms smuggling. They were never slavers, anyway. They prefer mechs to organic labourers.

"As for the Blue Suns, they're just Aria T'Loaks' enforcers, now. More likely to shoot up slavers than take part in the trade.

"Which just leaves the new kids on the block; the Warsworn."

"Yeah, I heard of them." Vega said. "Not like the others, I'm hearing?"

"Very unlike." Tali said. "They provide security, bodyguard and merchant escort services for people who don't rate military protection. They've also rooted out vorcha nests, crippled a few Eclipse drug and arms smuggling rings and taken down several Cerberus hold-out bases.

"They do the job, they don't over-charge, and they won't touch anything illegal."

"Do we know who heads them up?" Vega wanted to know.

Garrus shook his head. "No. Their main contact is Commander Miranda Lawson -who we all know from the old days. She's the one who makes the deals, but she's very clear that she answers to someone else. Someone they call the 'Grey Warden', or just 'the Warden'."

"The Illusive Man, maybe?" Vega suggested. "He disappeared, and we never found a body."

"Possible, but unlikely." Garrus noted. "The Warsworn recruit from all races, not just humans. There are even some hanar working for them. We don't think the Warsworn are behind the disappearing ships.

"We want you, James, as a Spectre, to look into this. Joker has agreed to give you the _Iwo Jima_ and her crew. You'll have all the Spectre authority and resources you need, but remember that in the Terminus Systems that won't count for much!"

"This an official job, then?" James asked.

"Mostly." Garrus allowed. "But you know how things are out in Terminus. The Council has no real jurisdiction there, and most of the colonies are unofficial ones that don't even answer to their own governments. We'll back you up when and if we can, but you might just find yourself on your own out there."

"It also means that we can't send a fleet out if you get in trouble." Tali warned. "A lot of the colonies would see that as an attempt to end their independence. They don't have big fleets, most of them, but nobody wants a shooting war out there."

"So just one Spectre, and one fast, stealthy frigate." James noted. "Sounds kinda familiar, don't it?"

"Familiar enough that I wish I could go with you." Garrus admitted. "I'm getting a little rusty, I could do with a work-out!"

"I could too." Tali said firmly. "But we both have jobs to do, Councillor Vakarian, so don't get any ideas!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Signs and Portents**

 **Chapter Two**

 _ **Authors' Note:**_ _The eagle-eyed among you will have noticed references to 'Dragon Age' and 'Kingdoms of Amalur' in this offering. This is merely me staying true to the spirit of these games, all of which contain nods to each other: the 'Shepards Armour' set in KoA, the Chakram Thrower weapon in ME3, the Blood Dragon Armour in ME2, the krogan-head trophy in DA:I, and so forth. Accept this in the spirit of fun it is offered in._

Marcus Cole was often accused of not taking his job seriously. This was not true – he just didn't take _himself_ seriously. He came from English stock, after all, and was genetically predisposed to self-deprecating humour. His job he did take seriously, which was why he was checking the security protocols he and the five other Warsworn on board the _Xavarian_ had set up to protect the cargo. The pharmaceuticals the ship was carrying were vital to the survival of an unofficial elcor colony in the Terminus systems. But they were also very expensive and a target for the pirates and thieves that swarmed the sector.

The elcor government could not, as a matter of policy, send any official aid. However, there was nothing to stop a group of officials privately funding a charitable relief effort and recouping the money as a tax rebate. Equally, the elcor fleet was not permitted to send a warship or military personnel into the Terminus systems. That was a greater problem, as the amount needed to hire and support an escort vessel – even a corvette -could not be hidden among the charity funds. But the hire of six 'freelance security personnel' could be and so the elcor had approached the Warsworn.

His inspection ended, Marcus made his way to the quarterdeck to report to the Captain.

Captain Rajok didn't nod, nor did his grey face express any emotion – he was an elcor after all.

"Approving." He said in his deep, slow voice. "You are assiduous in your work, Oathblade. Admiring: the Warsworn live up to their reputation."

Marcus did nod. "I'm just grateful you're keeping the gravity at Earth normal!" He said feelingly.

"With understanding: you would not function well under elcor gravity." Rajok noted. "Sly amusement: though I understand the human dish called pizza is most palatable."

Marcus groaned. The elcors' sense of humour was less ponderous than their bodies, but only by a little.

"Concerned: " This was the ops officer, speaking English for Marcus' benefit, "I am detecting an anomaly approaching the port bow."

The ship was an elcor one, and as such had a clear dome over the quarterdeck. All elcor lived mostly outdoors and disliked enclosed spaces. Marcus instinctively looked up and to the left, just as it appeared.

A ship, at least he thought it was a ship, suddenly became visible, wavering like the reflection on a disturbed pool before solidifying. Cruiser-size, he judged, made of black glass or crystal. The arrangement of long, slender spines projecting in front and to the side gave it a spider-like appearance.

Rajok was probably speaking to his crew in the elcor language, which humans couldn't hear, but whatever he was saying was too late. A reddish beam shot out from the black ship and steadily sliced across the _Xavarian_. Elcor ships, like the people who build them, are big, strong and thick-skinned, and maybe that was why Marcus survived. He was already moving as the beam cut the ship in two across the middle. In his ear, he heard the screams as his team were sucked into space. The forward section, where the crew were, was for a moment saved by the force-fields that sprang up to cover the breach. But the beam must have been coming back for another cut, because he was suddenly running through fire and flying metal.

Something slammed into his side, knocking him off-balance, but he regained control, throwing up a biotic shield to stop it happening again. Ahead of him, elcor were lumbering toward the life-pods. He made to join them, but then there was another explosion and the path was gone as the section of the ship he was on floated free, Spotting a small opening to his left, he dived into it and a door sealed behind him. There was a jerk, and then the gravity went.

It took Marcus a moment to realise what had happened. He was in a cargo drop-pod. Used to deliver small loads planet-side without having to land and take off again -a lengthy and expensive process on elcor heavy-grav worlds – the container was some three metres long and nearly two across. Clearly something had activated the ejection system and thrown him clear of the ship.

Marcus took stock. Pods were equipped with locator beacons for easy retrieval on the ground, but he didn't know if this one had activated. There was, of course, no instrumentation inside -all the controls were under a panel on the outside. At the moment it was warm and there was air inside, but that wouldn't last. Great.

His side was throbbing, but his armour – he always wore his armour on a job, because you never knew – wasn't compromised. He'd lost his rebreather helmet in the rush through the ship, but he had his emergency oxygen mask and a few hours supply in the suits' Crisis Tank. The suit also had heating elements -enough to keep him alive while the batteries lasted. If worst came to worst, he had his J-2 Thor pistol to give him an easy out.

Not that easy outs were on his mind. He was Warsworn, and the Grey Warden had a rule - 'Survive if you can, dead you're no use to anyone'. His personal locator beacon was a short-range affair, but he activated it nonetheless. Then he put on his mask, turning down the heaters and oxygen to as low a level as he could without killing himself. Then he began to meditate, sinking into a deep trance state that lowered his metabolism and reduced his body's needs. He would wait.

Vega checked in at the Spectre office early the next morning, dropping down at the nearest desk and typing his access code into the terminal. There were the usual checks, biometric ID, voice confirmation and so on, then the terminals' VI said:

"Spectre status recognised: welcome, Commander James Vega. Your orders have been cut, and the _Iwo Jima_ is in Dock 35, at your disposal when you wish to leave. You have new messages."

There were four of them. _Ain't I Mr Popular today?_ Vega thought.

The first read:

 _Hey, Big Guy!_

 _Heard you were coming here, so figured you'd do for what I got in mind._

 _I have a job I can't finish, Spectre stuff, and I need you to put the final touches on it._

 _Meet me at Purgatory around 21:00. I'm buying._

 _Jack_

It always amazed Vega, not that Jack had been made a Spectre, but that she'd accepted the job. Discipline and self-sacrifice had never been part of her make-up, as far as he could tell. But her record equalled his, even if her methods could get extreme.

Next up:

 _Hey, James,_

 _Good to see you yesterday, but we didn't get a chance to talk properly. I'm curious about a couple things. Meet me for lunch at Luigis'? Around 13:00._

 _Michael_

So what did Garibaldi want? They'd worked together a couple times, you could say they were friends, but Michael Garibaldi was not a man who got curious over trifles.

 _Hello James,_

 _It won't surprise you to know that our friends contacted me about your latest job._

 _I've looked into it and I've come across some pieces of information that may or may not have a bearing. I don't want to send anything – if I can hack Spectre security then so can someone else._

 _Come see me on Horizon when you can._

 _Love,_

 _Liara_

So the Shadow Broker was in the game, too? No surprises there, and no surprise that she'd come up with something.

 _Vega,_

 _I know you'll be heading this way soon, don't ask me how._

 _Your old boss was a good friend to me and Omega -though if you tell anyone I said that, I'll have to kill you – so I'm doing this because of that._

 _My people found somebody you're going to want to talk to. He was in bad shape when we found him, but he'll be OK._

 _Swing by Omega and come to Afterlife. We'll be expecting you._

 _Aria T'loak._

This was worrying. If Aria T'loak, acknowledged gangster queen of Omega Station, and the only real power in Terminus, was willing to offer something without a hint of _quid pro quo_ , something bad was going down!

James had been planning to leave Babylon 5 today, but it looked as if there was stuff to do here. He called Captain Traynor.

"Hey, Sam, looks like we won't be leaving today, so your guys can take a bit more shore-leave."

"Thanks for letting me know, James. It means I can get on with updating the new sensor array."

"You should take time to have some fun, Sam."

"That _is_ fun!" She told him.

"Nerd weirdo." He pointed out.

"Dumbass jarhead." She countered.

They laughed, and he cut the connection.

Zakera Ward was the shopping and entertainment centre of the station, and it was never less than crowded. Vega caught up with Chief Garibaldi on the way through the open market they called the 'Zokolo'.

Garibaldi was a shortish, wiry man with the face of a tough street kid, receding hair brush-cut and eyes that missed nothing. He took a no-nonsense approach to his job that had earned him the approval of the Council and the grudging respect of Babylon Fives' criminal community. Even Eclipse – the largest syndicate still intact -trod carefully on the station.

"Hey Mike, how's it goin'?" Vega asked.

"Same old, same old." Garibaldi told him.

"You wanted to talk?" Vega said.

"I need to eat first, or I'm gonna get grouchy." Was the reply.

"So when are you not grouchy?" Vega wanted to know.

Garibaldi favoured him with a wry grin as they came out of the Zokolo into the Square. A large open space surrounded by cafes, bars and restaurants catering to every possible taste. In the centre of the Square stood a permanent stage which was used for free public performances of 'cultural and entertainment interest'. Currently the stage was surrounded by a good-sized crowd and occupied by a hulking krogan in the dress of a clan shaman. As Garibaldi and Vega skirted the crowd, the krogan began:

"Two clans, both alike in dignity,

On old Tuchanka, where we lay our scene,

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where krogan blood makes krogan hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;"

"You have to be kidding me!" Vega said.

" _The Tragedy of Montag Rom and Caplet Julya_ , adapted by Urdnot Mordin from an idea by William Shakespeare." Garibaldi said solemnly. "Big hit on Tuchanka and the krogan colonies, I hear. Popular on the station as well. Beats the fourteen-hour elcor version of _Hamlet_."

Garibaldi was a known regular at Luigis', and of course Vega was a Spectre. That got them a good table despite the lunch-hour rush and the food arrived promptly. Hunger assuaged, Garibaldi relaxed a little, and came to the point.

"What do you know about the vorlons?" He asked.

Vega shrugged. "What Ambassador Delenn told us. Very ancient race, only a few left, dying out. The minbari gave them a home, they give the minbari advice. Suit up worse than quarians used to, don't talk much."

"Well, that about doubles my knowledge!" Garibaldi grumbled. "Look, I'm Security Chief for this floating zoo, right? You know and I know that means more than just police work. It means keeping this place safe for a dozen different species with a dozen different needs. It means making sure that the quarians have clean sectors in the restrooms, making sure the volus quarters have the right atmosphere and pressure, keeping the elcor private quarters at high-grav. It's also letting people know not to serve levo food or drink to dextro customers – and now alcohol to minbari. Stuff like that.

"Now I'd been sent a full dossier on what the minbari need, so that's OK. But an hour after the Ambassador arrives, I get a whole file of instructions on setting up private quarters for this Kosh character. Apparently he needs an atmosphere so toxic it would kill a krogan in a space-suit. If any of that leaks into the stations' atmosphere, people are gonna get real sick or even die. It's not a job you can do at an hours' notice, so now this guy has to stay in his Encounter Suit – as they call it – until the techs can set his room up.

"On top of that, there's no medical data -if he gets sick or injured, there's nothing we can do. We don't know what he eats, what kind of sanitary arrangements he needs, or what he does for sex. For all I know, he could be snacking on duct-rats by now!

"I asked the minbari embassy for more details, and they told me the vorlons are a very private race who don't like revealing things about themselves. Now I respect privacy as much as the next man – within the law – but if it comes to making my job harder than it already is, then something has to give."

"So what do you want me to do?" James asked.

"Nothing yet." Garibaldi allowed. "But if or when something does go wrong, or if it comes to the point that I think my lack of information might compromise the station or the Council, I'm gonna need you to have my back. Babylon Security they might be able to ignore, but a Council Spectre, they'll have to listen to!"

The new edition of the Purgatory night club was pretty much like the old one. A raised dance-floor, a lively Lower Bar, an Upper Bar for patrons who preferred a quiet drink and a VIP area where more business was done than drinking. The place lacked the exotic dancers, prowling hookers and hallex vendors found in Omega's Afterlife. That might be down to Garibaldis' policing, or sensible caution on the part of the bars' majority owner, one Aria T'loak. Probably both.

Vega entered the Upper Bar, feeling the slight resistance of the weak force field that invisibly separated this area from the rest of the club. As he did so, the pounding rhythm of the music was muted to a mere background. This was a place where people came to chat, not shout.

Then Jack was waving him over to a corner table and greeting him with a hug. Lieutenant-Commander Jacqueline Nought, as Alliance Personnel records listed her, formerly Subject Zero, still looked like a kid. Short, slender and small-boned, she looked out of place in the uniform she had finally been persuaded to wear. But Vega knew that she was arguably the most powerful human biotic of her generation, more dangerous than an asari Huntress.

"Hey, James, hear you've been keeping busy!" Jack said. "Nice work on Kahje. Hanar suicide cult, right?"

"Yeah," Vega said, "thought it was wrong that they'd survived the 'Harvest' when the Enkindlers didn't. If they'd stayed a suicide cult, no problem – the hanar don't have issues with anyone killing themselves. But this group decided to spread the word with a little mass murder. The hanar don't like fighting each other and they didn't want to make drell kill hanar, either. So I got sent."

"I hear they sent some people after Javik?" Jack enquired.

"They did." James allowed. "But you know Javik. It got real messy, real fast, and he was the last one standing. Again.

"But last I heard, you were on Thessia?"

"Damn right!" Jack affirmed. "Rogue asari Commando unit, decided to become criminal masterminds. It was fun. Makes a change from teaching at Grissom."

"Surprised they still let you do that, now you're a Spectre." Vega noted.

"Part of the deal." Jack explained. "I'm a specialist, right? They only call me in for jobs that need high-level biotics. So I don't want to spend most of my time sitting on my ass waiting for a call. The teaching worked for me before, and the kids, so I still do it.

"That's kinda why I wanted to see you, James."

"What, you want me to do some teaching?" Vega shook his head. "Shit, I only just managed to finish high school! Wasn't for the military, I'd be collecting garbage or something."

"Relax, big guy, I wouldn't put you in front of a class!" Jack reassured him. "The guys would all crap themselves and the girls would be more interested in your six-pack than what you were teaching!"

She turned and waved to a woman who had been sitting quietly at a nearby table. As she rose and came over, Vega saw that she was tall and well-built. She had a wealth of dark hair and a face that was too strong to be pretty but too attractive to be plain – 'handsome' was the word that came to mind. She wore Alliance uniform with N7 tags on the collar.

"This is Lieutenant-Commander Susan Ivanova." Jack explained. "Alliance military, N7 and now a probationary Spectre. Susan's a biotic and I've been her Training Officer the last couple months. But now she's gone as far as I can take her.

"She needs more weapon and combat training before she's ready to go it alone, so when I heard you were coming here, I thought who better?"

"Right." Vega said. "You agreed to this, Lieutenant-Commander?"

"Sure," Ivanova replied, "I mean, you're not Shepard, but you're pretty much the next best thing!"

"Gee, thanks!" Vega said, not without irony. "Well, if Jack thinks you're worth my trouble, then I'll take you on. This is gonna be field work, no classroom stuff, and if you make the cut, I'll tell you."

"And if I don't?" Ivanova asked.

"You'll probably be dead!" Vega told her. "You better get your gear ready, Probie, because we're leaving tomorrow. Report to the _Iwo Jima_ , Naval Dock 35 at 06:00."

Vega was actually at the door of his apartment when the man accosted him.

"Commander Vega? A moment of your time?"

A tall, well-dressed man with a thin face, dark hair, a practised smile and unreadable eyes.

"Can I help you?" Vega asked.

"We may be able to help each other." The man said. "My name is Morden, and I represent certain… _parties_ …who are interested in your current mission."

There was something off about Mordens' manner. Vega, who had seen mind-control before, was direct.

"You talking about the Leviathan or the rachni?" He asked.

The bluntness of the question seemed to throw Morden a little off-balance, but he recovered quickly.

"Neither," he replied, "my associates prefer to remain anonymous for now, but would be interested in a mutually beneficial relationship. At the moment, however, they only want the answer to one question.

"Commander Vega, what do you want?"

"What do I want?" Vega was nonplussed. "Right now, I want to get good nights' sleep – I got an early start tomorrow. Beyond that, I want to know who your 'associates' are and what their agenda is, and you better believe I'll find out! So unless you want to come clean right now, Mr Morden, we got nothing more to talk about!"

"Your loss, Commander." Morden said imperturbably, then turned and left without another word.

Morden proceeded to a nearby park space and sat on one of the carved benches. He folded his hands in front of him as if in prayer or meditation, ensuring that he would be given a courteous berth by passers-by.

"He would be easy to neutralise…." He said, apparently to himself. "No, he is like his mentor, Shepard, a simple-minded thug…. Vakarian, Urdnot, Alenko and Tali'Zorah will be the same….Because they are all disciples of Shepard, who chose his people in his own image….Then we must look elsewhere, among people of the new age, with more vision….He will find nothing, we are safe."

He got up and left, never noticing the drell not far away. The drell nodded to himself. The Commander would log a contact report, of course, and do a search – his curiosity would have been roused, and unlike Morden, the drell had no doubts about Vegas' intelligence. Spectre resources might find out more than B-Sec could, but Vega would certainly share anything dangerous. Still, it would be as well to see where Morden went next, and who he contacted.

Kolyat Krios murmured a prayer to Amonkira, Lord of Hunters, and continued to trail Morden.

Commander Miranda Lawson strode briskly through the corridors of Cronos Station, acknowledging the salutes and greetings of her fellow Warsworn. She still got that feeling of displacement, coming back here. The basic structure of what had once been the stronghold of Cerberus had not changed, but so much of it had been repurposed. The labs that had once performed obscene experiments on Cerberus 'volunteers' were now committed to medical research. The Indoctrination Suites were now lounges and games rooms where soldiers and scientists mixed and relaxed, swapping ideas and tall stories in about equal amounts. The black and white Cerberus uniforms had been replaced by the red and gold of the Warsworn, and Cerberus insignia superseded by the Warsworn badge - a galactic globe supported by two armoured hands. The armouries and training areas remained unchanged, of course, though the weapons made were more advanced, and the tactics more about clean victory than intimidation and terror.

The main difference lay in the people, of course. In the Illusive Mans' time, only humans had been permitted here, except for prisoners or experimental subjects. This had been the home of a movement dedicated to human dominance in the Galaxy at large – an agenda many of its members had failed to realise, or chosen to ignore, including Miranda herself. Now, however, the corridors and workspaces were filled with a mix of almost every race in the Galaxy. The Warsworn recruited anyone with the skills they needed and the willingness to adhere to their discipline and code of conduct. As a result, humans here worked alongside asari, turians, krogan, salarians, volus, drell, elcor, hanar, quarians and even geth. Each bringing their own unique skills and viewpoint to the whole.

"Legion," Miranda asked the air, "where can I find the Warden?"

The stations' AI, named for the geth collective who had worked with Commander Shepard, replied in its' firm, crisp tones.

"The Grey Warden is in the Overlook, Commander."

"Figures." Miranda said. "Thanks, Legion."

The Overlook had once been the Illusive Mans' control centre. A large, seemingly empty chamber surrounded with viewscreens that gave a three-hundred-and-sixty degree view of space around the station. Miranda knew that the glassy black floor panels could fold aside at a whim to allow control stations to rise up from below, and that some of them concealed holo-projectors linked to Cronos' quantum entanglement communications array. If need be, everything the Warsworn or their agents were doing across the entire Milky Way could be monitored and directed from this one room. That was how the Illusive Man had run Cerberus for decades.

The Grey Warden -only a few knew his real name – seldom used the room that way. He trusted his people to conduct their missions in the way they deemed best, and to respond appropriately to any situation that might arise. But he was always available for consultation, advice, or even simply encouragement. Just now, he was sitting in a comfortable chair, sipping coffee and gazing out at the magnificent view of the Horsehead Nebula. He never tired of looking at the stars he had spent most of his life among.

He rotated the chair as Miranda entered and smiled at her. A big, powerful man, imposing even when seated. The side of his head that was not a metal dome had a close-clipped growth of grizzled brown hair. The right eye was grey-blue and steady, the left was a glowing blue prosthetic in a silvery socket. The scarring that traced down the left side of his face and neck had not disfigured the strong jaw and firm mouth. The left hand was also metal.

"Miranda," he said with a grin, "welcome back! Been a while. There's coffee if you want it."

By the time she had fixed coffee to her liking, the floor had sprouted another chair and a small table. She sat down with a sigh.

"This is one change I like!" She noted. "The Illusive Man never let anyone else sit, no matter how long the meeting, and he never even offered a glass of water!"

"You don't like the other changes?" The Warden asked.

"I approve of them." Miranda allowed. "But coming back here still gives me the creeps. Too many bad memories. Too much I did that I still have to make up for.

"Why this place? I've never asked before, though I've often wondered."

The Warden grinned again. "I'd have figured you'd work that out yourself." He said. "This place is isolated, off the beaten track, orbiting a dying sun in a system with no resources. With Cerberus driven out, it was empty. The Alliance didn't have time to strip the place – they went straight to Earth with the other fleets and the Crucible – and they hadn't done too much structural damage. The Reaper power core was still running and the place was littered with Reaper and Prothean tech just waiting to be picked up and worked on. Even Cerberus' research database was still intact. But after the War, nobody ever bothered about this place. Too busy rebuilding.

"All it needed was a few repairs, and it had everything I needed to start building the Warsworn."

"Pure practicality, then." Miranda said. "I should have known. For a sentimental man, you have a very pragmatic streak."

"I prefer to think of it as pragmatic but with a sentimental streak." He corrected her. "So, how are things out there?"

"Same shit, different assholes." She told him. "The krogan finally got all their old colonies back, but Wrex and Bakara aren't letting them over populate this time. Some of the more traditional tribes are grumbling, but nothing more. I don't think we'll see another Krogan Rebellion, but if we do, it'll be an internal thing, and we can trust Wrex to handle it.

"The new associate race, the minbari, are going to bear watching. They have a Warrior caste who are spoiling for a fight, and the turians or krogan might just be willing to give them one. We don't need a repeat of the batarians or vorcha. They have three castes, and all it needs is for the Warriors to swing one of the others behind them to change policy.

"There's an STG outpost on a pre-Mass Effect planet called Narn that's been reporting odd things. There's no Prothean remains on Narn, but the salarians have been watching the people there because they're close to developing the Mass Effect. Some of the salarians think the narns might be being helped by another race who conquered them but then withdrew around a century ago."

"A hundred years ago?" The Warden asked. "Before the Reaper War, and still around?"

"Exactly." Miranda said. "There might be an advanced race that we never met, but who never got wiped out by the Reapers. The Reapers ignored civilisations that didn't have the Mass Effect when they arrived. That's why they left the minbari, the yahg and these narns alone. But these guys must have had it long before. Maybe we should look into that?"

"Pass it to the Shadow Broker." The Warden decided. "Liara will know who can be trusted to make best use of it.

"What about the problems in Terminus?"

Miranda shrugged. "The Blue Suns are lowering their protection rates for colonies and transports to the point where it's getting cheaper to pay them than to hire us!

"Aria's no fool, and she must've figured out that her mercs would only stand for getting their asses kicked by the Warsworn for so long before they deserted her. Means we stand to lose some cash, though."

"No problem." The Warden observed. "That's not our only, or even main, income stream. What about the ship disappearances?"

"The Council finally got onto it." She told him. "Garrus had to remind them that shit going down in Terminus was how the Collector business started. They've assigned a Spectre to investigate. It's James Vega, and they've given him a frigate -the _Iwo Jima_.

"You want to send him some back-up?"

"Not openly, not yet." The Warden decided. "That's your new assignment, Miranda. Monitor James' progress. Put together a team and shadow him. If he gets in too deep, pull him out. Your call as to if and when. If he can sort it out by himself, good, but if not…."

"Understood." She said. "By the way, Kolyat reports that there's some guy called Morden running around Babylon Five making offers to people. Might be some kind of gangster, but Kolyat thinks there's something off. This Morden approached Vega, for instance, but he should have known you can't bribe a Spectre!"

"Not always true." The Warden said. "The old Shadow Broker used to have at least one in his pocket. But you're right about James at least. If Kolyat's worried about this Morden, he probably had a good reason. He's no assassin, but he has his fathers' instincts. Get hold of Kasumi and put her in contact with Kolyat. If anyone can find out about this Morden, she can.

"Or am I overreacting?"

"Probably not." Miranda allowed. "You trust Kolyats' instincts, and I trust yours, Shepard!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Signs and Portents**

 **Chapter Three**

Captain Martius Marakon of the Blue Suns shook his head. "Same as the others." He said grimly. "Cut to shreds, even the life-pods. Whoever did this wanted no survivors!

"What about the cargo, Jasek?"

"Intact." The salarian at the sensor console told him. "Obviously this wasn't a pirate raid. Since this was an elcor ship and the cargo seems to be medicines, I'd say they were headed for the elcor colony on Prinat. They've got a plague there."

"Scoop it up." Marius ordered. "Then find out how much Aria wants to charge the colony for it. However much, it'll be pure profit!"

"One more thing." Jasek said. "I'm getting a signal. Weak but traceable. Personal locator beacon. It's Warsworn."

"Shit!" Martius swore. "Comms, patch me through to Aria, now!"

A QEC Comm Centre wasn't standard for this class of ship, and had had to be fitted in a cubby-hole on the Engineering deck. Martius, who was tall even for a turian, had to duck his head to get in through the hatch.

Aria T'loak was already online, seated on the couch in Afterlife from which she ran Omega and half the Terminus Systems.

"This better be important!" She snapped. "I choose my officers in the hope they can take at least a few decisions by themselves. Was it what we thought it was?"

"Same pattern." Martius acknowledged. "But whoever did it is long gone and left no trace, as usual.

"But that's not why I called, Aria. We've got a distress signal from among the wreckage. It's Warsworn."

Aria leaned forward, suddenly tense. "A survivor, a witness?" She said. "Pull them in and for the Goddess' sake make sure they live! Then get them back here as fast as you can.

"Wait, what was the cargo?"

"Medicine for Prinat, we think." Martius said. "We're scooping it now."

"Then get it to Prinat and deliver it!" Aria commanded. "And don't ask for money! That was a charity shipment – my people on Dekuuna told me about it.

"Now listen Martius! The Warsworn will have guaranteed delivery of that shipment, and when their people don't check in they'll be all over that sector like mucus ticks on a vorcha! If they find out we tried to sell medicine to plague victims, they're gonna take the price out of our hides. If they realise we left one of theirs to die in space, they're gonna be pissed. We don't want a war with these guys, they might just chew us up and spit us out!

"Are we clear?"

"Crystal." Martius said. Aria cut the link and he set out to obey his orders, though not without a degree of puzzlement. Aria didn't know what fear was – Martius had been there when she took Omega back from Cerberus, so he knew that much. So why should she be so clearly scared of the Warsworn? To Martius, they were just another merc group. More skilled than the Talons and less vicious than Eclipse, more honest than either. But still…. What did Aria know or guess about them that she wasn't telling?

As a Spectre, Vega rated his own cabin on the _Iwo Jima_. Not that it was incredibly spacious or palatial – this was only a frigate, after all – but it gave him a measure of privacy and secure uplinks. Ideal for sizing up new recruits, as well.

Susan Ivanova had a stillness about her. An impassivity that hinted at volcanic forces held in tight restraint. She must have driven the volatile Jack crazy -or crazier than she already was.

"So, Probie, tell me about yourself." Vega said.

"I'd prefer it if you called me Lieutenant-Commander, Ivanova, or even Susan." She said, with only a slight edge to her voice. "And as my new Training Officer, you should know my service history by now."

"Whatever you say…Probie." Vega responded. "And yeah, I read your record. Born in Old Russia in 2230. Your mom was an engineer -she died when you were in your teens; your Pop is a Project Manager in local government. You joined the military straight out of school. Because of your biotics, you trained as a Vanguard.

"Served against the vorcha, commended for valour five times, promoted to Lieutenant. Then you were recommended for N7. You aced the training and got sent out against Eclipse slavers operating in the Horsehead Nebula. Found out that Eclipse were grabbing people for a bunch of ex-Cerberus fanatics to experiment on. That and a couple other things got you to Lieutenant-Commander and onto the Alliance list for potential Spectres. A vacancy came up, and here you are.

"That's just bare bones, Probie. Like they tell us at the Induction, Spectres are born, not made or trained. Your record tells me what you can do, not who you are, there's more to being a Spectre than just competence."

Ivanova grimaced, obviously uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking.

"Well, I suppose you should know that my family are Jews." She said. "Not that I'm religious, but it makes a difference. My people still have a habit of looking over their shoulders to see where the next set of oppressors are coming from. Also, it means my father wasn't happy when I joined the military -it took me out of the community, he said, left me vulnerable. Even the fact that I've done so well won't convince him that I'm not being held back or set up for a fall."

"That kinda sounds more personal than historical." Vega commented.

She gave him an appraising glance. "You're smart, behind the muscles and the tattoos." She told him. "My mom was in an accident, just after they married. Got exposed to pure refined eezo. She was pretty sick, but they treated her and let her go, said she was OK. Only she wasn't, and the cancer started just after I started High School. She died before I graduated. Pop always said the doctors knew it would happen, but didn't do anything about it."

"The eezo stayed in her cells." Vega guessed. "That's why you're a biotic."

"You're right." She told him. "That only made it worse for Pop. He thinks they left Mom like that so I'd turn out this way and never mind her, she was only another Jew after all."

Vega sighed. "I can see his point." He allowed. "Back when biotics and the Mass Effect were all new, there was a history of 'accidental exposures' to eezo. Governments and others were trying to increase the number of human biotics being born. People remember – it was all over the press a few years later – and they still get suspicious about accidents."

"They do." She replied. "It causes problems. Pop saw it as something that 'they' had done to me. So when I tested positive for biotics at sixteen, and they wanted to send me to Grissom Academy, he refused. I see it as a gift from my mother – one she'd have wanted me to use. So I joined the Alliance straight out of High School. I was too late for Grissom, but the military trained me to use my abilities, then Jack showed me how to do it better.

"That enough for you?"

"For now." Vega said. "The rest I'll find out as we go along. But we'll be at Omega in a few hours. Ever been there?"

"No." She admitted. "I hear it can get dangerous."

"That it can." He agreed. "So go get some shut-eye, we'll need to be at our best if we're going to deal with Aria."

She saluted and left. Vega was thinking about turning in himself when the intercom pinged.

"Hi, James." It was Sam. "I've left CIC to take care of itself for a bit. Want to come up?"

 _Shepard was hurting, exhausted. He guessed he was dying. But his friends, his allies, were out there fighting and dying as well. Fleets and soldiers from almost every race in the Galaxy. Krogan and turians fighting alongside asari and humans; the geth fleet holding the flank for the quarians; salarian STG giving covering fire to Blood Pack vorcha. He had to act, and act quickly, or all would be for nothing._

 _But how to act? Three paths before him, outlined by the ghostly child-figure of the Catalyst, the entity that somehow controlled the Reapers, and yet was advising him on how to end their cycle of devastation. Four paths, because he could always choose to lie down and die, leave the decision to the next cycle. He smiled faintly, in spite of his pain, wondering how a yahg might act in his place._

 _To his right, the red device that was the heart of the Reapers: destroy it, destroy them, but all other synthetic life with them -the geth, EDI, who knew what else? That would have been Andersons' path, but Anderson had died from his wounds soon after the Crucible had docked._

 _To his left, the blue panel that would let him control the Reapers, upload his mind to the great machine-creatures and make him their absolute ruler. Shepard had been an officer, a Commander, for years, but could he be a ruler? That was more than commanding a squad. Did a life of split-second battlefield decisions based on survival instinct and the need for victory prepare him to rule the most powerful beings in the Galaxy? The Illusive Man had sought that very thing, but now he too lay far below with Anderson, dead by Shepards' hand._

 _Directly before him was the green-white pillar of light that led, he'd been told, to synthesis. The merging of organic and synthetic life into a harmonious whole. But did that mean the end of the Galaxy's most prized asset – it's diversity of peoples and cultures? That, according to Javik, had been the fatal weakness of the prothean empire. By imposing uniformity on all the subjugated races, they had created a monolithic structure whose weaknesses the Reapers had been able to find and exploit time after time. True, the Reapers would be part of the new synthesis, but a lifetime of war had taught Shepard that there was always another enemy over the horizon, each one more powerful than the last. What if the Leviathan were to rouse themselves from their hiding places? What if there were another menace, perhaps extra-Galactic, that was more dangerous than the Reapers? Could a synthesised culture retain the vitality needed to meet or survive such an enemy?_

 _Shepard was hurting, exhausted. He guessed he was dying. Also, for the first time since that day on Eden Prime when it had all begun, he was completely alone. He needed Garrus' unswerving loyalty, Vegas' blunt common sense, the bellicose commitment of Wrex or Grunt, Talis' sarcastic practicality, Kaidans' moral sense, Mordins' lightning analysis. Even Mirandas' steely pragmatism would have helped, or Zaeeds' ruthlessness, Legions' logic or Thanes' spiritual certainty. Perhaps he just needed Anderson or Hackett to give him orders. Or Joker, that half-crazy pilot of pilots, to swoop down and haul him out of here. Most of all, he ached for Liaras' wisdom and unconditional love._

 _He took a step forward and was surrounded by soft silver light. A gentle voice asked "Who are you? What do you want? Why are you here? Where are you going?"_

Afterlife was pretty much the same as it always had been, James noted. Omega itself was a little different. The Blue Suns strutted less than they used to, didn't throw their weight around as much. That was probably because you couldn't go far on the station now without seeing the red uniforms of the Talons. Once one of the smaller gangs, the Talons had taken advantage of the decimation or the other merc groups by Shepard and Garrus to move up the ladder. When Cerberus had ousted Aria and occupied Omega during the Reaper War, the Talons had become, under the leadership of the turian Nyreen Kandros, the only organised resistance. Later, when Aria moved to recapture the station, she enlisted the help of Commander Shepard, who in turn persuaded the Talons to help. Since then, the Talons had been the security service of the station, protecting the (relatively) honest citizens from the rowdier elements and ensuring that the slave traders stayed away.

Ivanova at least knew enough to keep her eyes front as they passed by the exotic dancers (mostly asari or human) in their skin-tight costumes, the drunks, the hookers and the tables where crooked deals were being openly discussed. A dozen serious offences were being planned or committed within earshot, but this was Omega -a place that had no laws and only one rule.

In her sanctum – a private gallery above the main floor – Aria T'loak held court as she had for decades. Her flawless asari features as hard as ever, she nonetheless impatiently gestured her bodyguards aside and invited Vega and his companion to sit.

"So," she said, eyeing Ivanova appreciatively, "Shepards' apprentice has his own apprentice now. You always had good taste, Vega. Speaking of which, how is the lovely Captain Traynor?"

"Busy nailing everything on the ship down." James told her. "This is Omega, after all. Don't want anyone swiping the drive core while we're docked here!"

Arias' laugh was genuine, but short, then. "OK, enough chatter. You'll want to cut to the chase, like your boss always did.

"Couple days ago, an elcor freighter was ambushed and destroyed in a nearby system. Not slavers, even vorcha aren't dumb enough to try and enslave elcor, it's a good way to end up smeared over the floor. Not pirates, either, because they left the cargo, but shot up the life-pods."

"Same pattern as the other attacks we've been hearing about, then." James told her. "Destroy the ship, wipe out the crew, then vanish."

Aria nodded. "Well, they slipped up this time. The ship was a charity charter sending medicines to the elcor colony on Prinat. No escort ships, but apparently they hired Warsworn security. One of their people somehow got into a cargo pod. The ship I sent out picked up his personal locator. He was in bad shape -busted ribs, internal injuries, hypothermia and oxygen deprivation – but we put him back together. He's in a private room across the way, and I'll let him tell you what he told us.

"I talked with Commander Lawson. She's happy for you to take him off Omega and drop him at the nearest Warsworn office -they don't have one here. She offered me a finders' fee but refused a date. Real ice-queen, that one.

"Before you go talk to him, listen up. I don't know who these people are, or what they want, but they could be almost as bad as the Reapers. Trying to stay out of that one cost me a lot of time and hassle, and I don't make mistakes twice. So if you need help, the Blue Suns are available. Standard rates."

"Good enough," Vega replied, "and thanks. But stay clear of Miranda, she might be more than even you can handle, Aria!"

"A girl can dream." She retorted.

Vega got up and left, Ivanova followed.

"Well, that was short and sour." She remarked. "Is she always like that?"

"No." James responded. "Most of the time, she ain't so polite. But she's scared."

"Didn't look scared to me." Ivanova noted.

"She never _looks_ scared." James told her. "Aria is a former Asari Commando, and she's got good control. But she just offered a Council Spectre the use of her private army. Gangsters don't offer to partner up with cops unless they're scared of something worse, Probie."

The man awaiting them in the private room was human, tall and slender, with long dark hair, a bearded face and piercing eyes. He was dressed in red and gold Warsworn armour which showed recent patching on one side. He greeted them cheerfully in what they recognised as a British accent.

"Commander Vega, isn't it?" He said. "Delighted to meet you! Who's your friend, another Spectre? Are we getting out of here? D'you think your ships' galley can run to a bacon sandwich? The catering here can manage steak and chips, but for some reason a bacon sandwich is beyond them!"

Vega blinked. "Yeah. Good to meet you. Lieutenant-Commander Ivanova, not yet. We are, Probably. You'd have to talk to Aria about that and I wouldn't advise it. C'mon, we can talk once we're clear of here. Too many ears."

As they left the room, the turian guard outside handed Marcus a weapon-belt with a submachine gun and pistol attached.

"Thanks!" Marcus enthused. "Thought I'd lost those! The Commander would have taken it out of my pay. Or my hide, depending on her mood at the time."

"You don't much like Commander Lawson?" Ivanova hazarded.

"Oh, I _adore_ her!" Marcus gushed. "We all do. She wrote it into the regulations herself."

Vega allowed himself a grin, but Ivanova merely shot Marcus a look of irritation. _You need to work on those people skills, Probie_ Vega noted to himself.

"This place makes me think of Dodge City back in the Ancient West." Marcus went on, then assumed an outrageous American accent as he drawled: "There ain't no Sunday in Terminus and no God on Omega." Dropping back into his normal voice he said; "Hang on! I've seen that woman before!"

They were in a less-frequented corridor that led to the docks – Vega had chosen it because it was the long way round and so seldom used. The woman Marcus had pointed out was short and heavy-set, with a blonde bob and a squarish, pugnacious face. As they looked, she pointed to them and said something inaudible.

Immediately the air around her wavered and six beings appeared. Man-sized black creatures that looked like praying mantises, with arrow-like heads. Soundlessly, they charged down on the three.

Vegas' assault rifle was already out and aimed by the time the beasts had solidified, and two precisely-aimed rounds of incendiary ammunition put the lead creature down. Marcus' biotic Warp attack dropped another in its tracks. Then Ivanova, aglow with dark energy, shot forward in a biotic charge that knocked the final four down as she arrived in the middle of them. Three blasts from her shotgun reduced as many aliens to tatters - the kind of devastating damage only shredder ammunition could cause.

The final one was staggering to its feet when Vegas' high-impact shot decapitated it. The woman turned to flee, but found herself floating helplessly in a sphere of dark energy cast by Marcus.

"You never said you were a biotic." Vega said to Marcus.

"You never asked." The Warsworn responded.

Vega grunted, then addressed Ivanova. "Nice moves, Probie, but you had no cover to dodge into at the other end. That stunt leaves you wide open, so you need to give your squad a heads-up so they can cover you."

"Jack always covered me." Ivanova replied. "I guess I got out of the habit."

"Yeah, you would." Vega allowed. "Jack's got enough juice to shield half a planet, but she's one of a kind."

"Won't happen again, Commander!" Ivanova promised. "I think Jack sent me to you to lose the bad habits I picked up from her!"

They had come up with her by now, and as the Singularity field faded, the blonde woman dropped to the floor. Vega moved to stand over her.

"OK." He said. "What were those things? Who are you working for?"

The woman spat at him, then bit down hard on something in her mouth, went rigid for a moment, and died.

"Shit!" Vega swore, then looked up as two different, heavily-armed, groups charged from different ends of the corridor.

The Blue Suns leader – a shaven-headed human – shook his head.

"Crap!" He said ruefully. "Aria told us to make sure you got off the station safely. At a discreet distance, she said. Too damn discreet! Lucky you didn't need us, but the boss is still gonna be pissed. You?"

This was addressed to the leader of the other party, a hulking krogan in Talon red, who shrugged.

"We heard the fight, came to see what was going on. You're that Spectre who came to collect the Warsworn, right?"

Vega nodded. "I can't stay around while you sort this out." He said. "We'll take one of these corpses to study aboard the ship. Do what you like with the rest, but we gotta go."

"What are these things anyway?" The human asked. "Rachni?"

The krogan shook his head. "Not Rachni. Rachni smell like a bad wound. These smell like dust and darkness and old empty rooms. Like something forgotten that shouldn't ever be remembered."

Colonel Jeffrey Sinclair was not a typical Alliance officer. His parents had been Roman Catholics – a small community in a world where more than half of the population had abandoned formal religion – and young Jeffrey had early been encouraged to look to the priesthood as a career. Educated at one of the last remaining Jesuit seminaries on Earth, he had been within days of ordination when the Reapers came.

He had become a soldier by necessity, but after the war, he found he had no vocation for the priesthood any more. As far as he could see, God had simply left His children at the mercy of the Reapers, while the pagan aliens his parents had so hoped he would help to convert to the Faith had rallied round and helped. Sinclair had stayed in the military.

His career had not been smooth. As a late-comer without basic training, he had had to rely on his reputation as a successful resistance leader. The Alliance was generous with him and others like him, granting them either military pensions or field commissions based on notional ranks derived from the size of the groups they had led. But the 'real' military, the ones who had been through boot camp and officer training, were never sure of these interlopers. There was more, they said, to being an Alliance soldier than hit-and-run guerrilla raids could teach. So Sinclair set himself to learn.

His determination, his modesty and his willingness to listen and learn, along with a deft hand with the people under his command, had paid off. His rank, and this prestigious posting, was his reward. But he was still paying his dues, and this diplomatic function was part of that.

He was here, he knew, to represent the benign face of the Alliance military. The well-spoken, scholarly, modest Sinclair was supposed to show that even the human military were civilised. That humans were not, in the words of one salarian Dalatrass,"A race that is always one good day away from rising higher than the asari, and equally one bad day away from falling lower than the yahg."

The Brownian motion of such gatherings eventually brought him face-to face with the minbari group; Ambassador Delenn, her ever-present aide, Lennier and another woman Delenn introduced as 'Saleen, one of my attaches."

Delenn had clearly studied Sinclair's background, because the first question she asked was: "Colonel, I am having a little difficulty grasping the nature of human religious culture, and I understand you had a religious education. Perhaps you can help me?"

Sinclair shrugged. "On the whole, religion is a dying phenomenon among humans. The religious wars of the early 21st Century gave rise to state-sponsored secularism among the most powerful nations of the time. People could believe what they wished, but religious observance and symbols were removed from public life and religious groups were not tolerated in politics. Religious leaders such as the Pope were treated by the state as ordinary citizens who were expected to pay their taxes and obey the civil law. Many religious practices – such as enforced celibacy for priests, or the ordination of men only -were outlawed as discriminatory.

"But after the Reaper War, there was a massive decline in religious belief on a personal level. Many such as myself could not bring themselves to believe in or worship a God who would unleash the Reapers on innocent people, or stand by and allow them to ravage as they did."

Delenn nodded. "And of course, it was your species homeworld, Earth, which suffered the fiercest and most prolonged Reaper attack. Why was that, do you think?

Sinclair was certain of his answer, this time. "The Reapers were afraid of humans. One human, Commander Shepard, was responsible for the destruction of their vanguard, Sovereign, and foiled the plans of their leader, Harbinger. No being of any other race in history had achieved so much. Humanity was the first race ever perceived by the Reapers as a direct threat to them."

"I see." Delenn replied. "We minbari were, I think, fortunate in being insufficiently advanced at that time to draw the Reapers' attention."

It was then that Saleen stepped forward. She had been eyeing Sinclair keenly throughout the conversation, and now she spoke to him in a tone that mixed fascination with fear.

"Colonel, are you aware, do you know, that there is a hole in your mind?"

Sinclair was nonplussed. Was this some kind of strange alien insult? But Saleens' tone was not rude, and her face expressed more compassion than anything else. Lennier stepped forward and took Saleens' elbow. "Come," he said gently but firmly, "I will get you some water."

"My apologies, Colonel." Delenn said. "Saleen is a telepath, and like many of her kind, her perceptions are sometimes…difficult…for her to deal with."

"It's OK," Sinclair told her, "as a matter of fact, I do have a blank in my memory. I can remember the Reaper landing outside the Seminary, but then nothing until two days later when I found myself grabbing a rifle from a dead soldier to save a family from a gang of Reaper Husks.

"But I've taken enough of your time. Ambassador Xandis is hovering, and while hanar are far too polite to interrupt, I'm sure he's anxious to speak to you."

They exchanged courtesies, and Sinclair moved away to find himself confronted by the vorlon, Kosh, who spoke without preamble.

"Who are you?"

Sinclair sensed that this being knew his name, that the question was deeper than the words. He also felt something else. A sense of... _familiarity_ …though he knew he had never seen a vorlon before.

"I'm just a man," he replied, "trying to make sense of a random Universe, like the rest of us."

"Not like the rest." Kosh said. "We will speak again, when the time comes."

Impelled by something he couldn't quite grasp, Sinclair asked "Why are you here, now?"

"I have always been here." Kosh replied as he turned away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Signs and Portents**

 **Chapter Four**

Marcus Cole was a talker, but his report was concise and to the point. Vega was impressed by the professionalism that lay behind the cheerful, self-deprecating humour. He'd never worked directly with the Warsworn, though colleagues had spoken highly of them. If this guy was a fair specimen they were as good as he'd been told.

"So there was no warning, no challenge?" He asked again.

"Not a damn thing." Marcus confirmed. "We didn't even know they were there until they were on top of us! Whatever stealth tech they use, it's far beyond anything we have."

"And it didn't look like any ship you'd ever seen?" This was Ivanova.

Marcus shook his head. "I'm too young to remember the Reapers, but I've seen holos of their ships, and Collector ships as well. This was nothing like either. Like a black glass spider is the nearest I can come to describing it.

"But now if you're done with me, Commander, I'm still not at my best. A meal and a few hours' sleep will do wonders for me!"

"Dismissed." Vega told him. "Go get yourself that bacon sandwich!"

"Is it me," Ivanova asked, "or is he the most annoying man in the Galaxy?"

"It's you, Probie." Vega said bluntly. "He's British, they're all like that. There's a Brit Spectre I worked with. The worse things got, the more cheerful he was. If Cole seems really happy, then we're in it deep!

"Anyhow, what do you reckon to his report?"

Ivanova frowned. "Not pirates, not slavers, Reapers or Collectors. Advanced, which is a problem in itself."

"How so?" Vega asked.

"Tech like that takes decades, if not centuries, to develop." Ivanova pointed out. "Whoever they are, they don't just have stealth tech, they have a full-on cloaking device. Now we both know that the _Normandy_ -class frigates are the stealthiest ships in any Council fleet, but all you need to do to spot one close up is look out the window. The salarians have been working on cloaking technology since before the Reaper War, and they still haven't got it right!

"Which means that whoever built that ship had to have been more advanced than us over seventy years ago!"

"In which case," Vega finished, "why didn't the Reapers wipe them out? Nice analysis, Probie, we'll make a Spectre out of you yet."

"Thanks, I think." Ivanova retorted. "Anything else you already know that you want me to tell you?"

"No, but what do you think we should do next?" Vega asked.

This time, she paused, then said slowly. "Normally I'd say, what happens in Terminus stays in Terminus. Let Aria and her people worry about it. But this isn't smuggling, or a turf war between syndicates. Even a newbie space-travelling race wanting to start an empire wouldn't be too big of a problem.

"But whoever these attackers are, they're an old established race with a lot of power. Could be we're treading on the toes of an established empire. Since the War a lot of people from all species have been founding independent colonies in Terminus. If some of those worlds belong to an empire we don't know about, they could just be defending themselves, or they could be looking to expand.

"Either way, we need to find out about them. Then it's up to the Council to decide whether to send in the fleets, the diplomats, or both!

"Though how we do the finding out, I don't know!"

"Me neither." Vega admitted. "But I know somebody who might. Jima?"

"Yes, Commander?" The ships' AI responded.

"Ask the Captain to set a course for Horizon." Vega said.

Tayba Leran studied the human in front of her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. She was amused by the cocky way he held himself, as if the half-dozen Eclipse Sisters around him were just bunch of schoolgirls and no threat. But she was curious as to why he had asked to see her.

"Well, Mr Morden," she said, "you got your interview. I'm a busy person, so you have ten minutes to impress me before I lose my patience. If I like what you say, we can talk some more. If you're wasting my time, I'll kick you out. Piss me off, and I'll kick you out the nearest airlock. We clear?"

"I won't need ten minutes, I assure you." Morden replied smoothly. "Though I should warn you that my associates do not appreciate threats, even from a former asari Commando. As to your being busy, don't try to deceive us. Your organisation is no longer the power it used to be. You're barely scraping by."

"If by 'associates' you mean Cerberus, why the Hell should I take you seriously?" Tayba asked. "We know about your past, Mr Morden. You worked directly for the Illusive Man, back in the day. He sent you into the Terminus Systems just after the Reapers attacked, and you disappeared. We figured you got cacked when Aria took Omega back, but it seems you wormed out of that.

"But Cerberus is gone, apart from a few die-hards, so you're going to have to do better than that!"

"I was never on Omega." Morden stated. "Cerberus had other interests in the Terminus Systems. It was there that I met my new associates, and I assure you, they are not like Cerberus. Their resources are far more substantial and their reach is very long.

"They would very much like to enter into a partnership with you, and are prepared to make an offer as a sign of good faith."

"What offer?" Tayba asked.

Morden shrugged. "What do you want?" He asked.

Tayba looked at him, then looked around the seedy, grubby warehouse she was using as her HQ. She remembered when Eclipse bosses had had fancy apartments on the Wards, when they had been rich, when Security could be paid off or scared off. The days when they didn't have to move on once a month, when cops like Garibaldi, who couldn't be bought and who responded to threats with a shotgun, could be removed with a word in the right ear.

"What do I want?" She asked. "I want the old days back. I want Eclipse to be feared, respected and rich again! But right now, I want that damned Justicar off my back!

"Can your associates manage that, Mr Morden?"

"In time, we can manage all of that." Morden said. "But for now, we will deal with the Justicar. We'll speak again once that is done."

Matriarch Tulina was proud with the pride of her faith. In the small 'religious quarter' of Babylon 5, the Temple of Athame was second only in magnificence to the siarist temple across the square. Since the War, the cult of Athame had undergone a renaissance in influence. It was widely known that the knowledge of the Catalyst, the final element of the Crucible weapon that had destroyed the Reapers, had been held in the Temple of Athame on Thessia. This had induced many to claim "Athame the Keeper" as the saviour of the Galaxy, through her servant, Commander Shepard.

True, the majority of asari had simply combined this aspect of the Goddess into their pantheistic beliefs, but asari were less than half of Tulinas' congregation. Many from the other races, whose own gods had seemed conspicuous by their absence when the Reapers came, had transferred their worship to the asari Goddess who had actually helped. Tulina, who had been an Athamist all of her long life, now felt justified in her faith, and joyful in sharing it with so many others.

But the current visitor to the Temple was one even she had not expected. Services were held at set hours throughout the day, and she had seen several religious-caste minbari among the congregation. The Athame faith was one which encouraged curiosity and learning, so such visitors were welcome, even if they came only to observe. The rest of the time, the Temple was open as a place of prayer and meditation, for those who wished to study the rich collection of asari and prothean artefacts found here, or who wished to read the numerous texts in the Temples' library.

This visitor stood in the nave, however, in front of the altar with its towering image of Athame. Beneath the bulky Encounter Suit, it was difficult to tell whether the vorlon was there in awe, worship, or contempt. Tulina approached quietly, but Kosh nevertheless turned to her as she came near.

"May I help you in some way?" She asked.

"Perhaps." Kosh replied. "Who are you?"

He was asking for more than her name, Tulina realised.

 _Shepard fought to clear his head, to answer the questions. As he did so, a figure loomed out of the light to approach him. Tall and thin, clad in robes, a high, domed head, a long, bearded face, piercing eyes. An alien, but from no race Shepard recognised. He waved a long-fingered hand in a placating gesture._

" _No need to answer to me, Commander." It was the voice that had questioned him. "Those questions are the ones every sentient being, every intelligent race, should ask itself, often. Each time the questions are the same, but the answers will differ, thus there is change and with it, growth. Those who cease to ask, or answer the same at every asking, have stopped growing, their time is past."_

" _Who are you?" Shepard asked._

" _I am called Lorien." Was the reply. "I am the First One. The first to achieve sentience among my people, who were the first in the universe to achieve it. We were the ones who fostered sentience among younger races – the Leviathan among them. The races we uplifted have each followed their own path. The Leviathan sought only dominance. Others have gone on elsewhere, or only observe. But there are some who…intervene."_

" _The Leviathan told me they were the first." Shepard said._

" _So they would have you believe, so you might be in awe of them and avoid them in their dotage." Lorien said. "They have forgotten how to change, and they have little time left, by their measure._

" _But change is coming, now, and you, Commander, stand on the cusp of that change. The Catalyst speaks only what it was made to speak. There are things you must see before you decide."_

 _He came to stand beside Shepard, and placed a hand on his shoulder, and Shepard saw…._

 _He saw a figure, it might have been himself, moving toward the red core of the Reapers, emptying his weapon into it. He saw the wave of red energy sweep across the ruins of Earth, husks and cannibals falling dead as it passed, the Reapers themselves exploding and crashing to destruction. He saw the wave sweep out of the crumbling wreck of the Citadel and the Crucible to leap from Mass Relay to Mass Relay, leaving them smouldering and broken as it passed. The Reapers and their creatures were destroyed, despite frantic efforts to flee. He saw the geth destroyed, saw Joker weeping over the blackened form that had been EDI._

 _He saw a million worlds begin the process of rebuilding, each isolated from the others while a determined few sought to find and repair the Relays. A labour of centuries when only light speed could be achieved. He saw worlds grow apart from the civilisations that had birthed them, new political entities created, new ideologies formed. The krogan descend into civil war again as they outbred the few worlds they could reach. The quarians, without the help of the geth, unable to adapt to their homeworld until the sick and starving remnant fled to their aging fleet. He saw the last quarian die, alone, lost, at the helm of an empty ship._

 _Then the black ships came, nobody knew from where. Their emissaries whispered in the ears of leaders. Where they were heeded, new technology and weapons appeared. Where they were rejected, the black ships came in thousands and destroyed worlds and peoples. He saw a new age of conquest and war. New races struggling with the remnants of the old and with each other. Everywhere war, and everywhere the black ships, taking one side or the other, raising a race to dominance, only to then encourage their slaves to rebel. Their only aim to maintain the conflict._

 _Then everything went black._

Samara had been ambushed before, but never so effectively. She wondered briefly if her attackers had somehow clouded her perceptions, allowing them to get so close. Or maybe she was just getting old.

Whoever they were, they weren't giving up. She could hear them searching from where she crouched. She had to get this wound looked at, but she also had to make sure her pursuers were gone before she went to a hospital. They were ruthless, at least one Security officer was already dead, and Samara would not risk civilian casualties.

They were close enough now -time to ambush the ambushers!

Her biotic shockwave threw the searchers in all directions. One snapped his neck as he struck a bulkhead. Samara coldly gunned down three others as they lay, then warped a fourth as he struggled to his feet.

Then a red light from above struck into her eyes, briefly dazzling her. Sniper! A single shot sounded, and the light swung away as a body dropped from somewhere above to land among his allies.

"Ha-ha!" A female voice, also from above. Then an urgent whisper from a side-passage.

"Justicar!"

The speaker was a drell, she saw, gesturing her urgently to join him. But as she began to move, two more assassins appeared from behind.

To Samaras' surprise, the drell responded with a biotic throw that sent one flying away. The remaining one raised its weapon, only to be cut in half by a blast from a heavy shotgun. A massive figure loomed out of the shadows and went off to deal with the thrown assassin in a similar manner.

That seemed to end it. As the drell came out of the side-passage toward Samara, she staggered. He caught her, with the wiry strength of his kind, and lowered her to a sitting position. He triggered his omni-tool and a moment later, Samara felt the pain recede and some strength return.

"The wound will need more attention." He said gravely. "The medi-gel has stabilised you, the ships' doctor will see to the rest."

"What ship?" Samara asked.

"The ship you'll be leaving B5 on in an hour or so." This was another voice, a womans', and familiar.

"Kasumi?" Samara looked up as her old ally approached to crouch beside her. "I was surprised to receive help, but now I see it is you, I suppose I should not be. This was not a coincidence, then? What piece of larceny are you engaged in today, child?"

"Oh, I'm not a thief anymore." Kasumi Goto said. "At least, not a freelance. I work for the Warsworn now.

"Kolyat and I were following a man called Morden. He contacted Eclipse and Tayba asked him to get rid of a certain Justicar, so we started watching you to see how he'd do it."

"And you did not see fit to warn me?" Samara asked.

Kasumi shrugged. "Eclipse are watching you, if we'd contacted you, it would have compromised the whole operation. Besides, we figured you could handle it."

"To be fair," the drell noted, "we did not realise how many would be sent against you, or how determined they would be."

"Kolyat?" Samara asked. "Kolyat Krios?"

He inclined his head. "Justicar Samara. My father spoke of you often, and always with respect."

"You also work for the Warsworn?" Samara asked.

Kolyat shook his head. "No, I am a priest by calling. But I have a mutually beneficial arrangement with the Shadow Broker, who is an ally of the Warsworn. It was I who drew the Brokers' attention to this Morden."

"But being his fathers' son," Kasumi put in, "he insisted on tagging along!

"Which just leaves our mystery guest. I don't have a tame krogan, is he yours, Samara?"

"No such thing as a tame krogan." This was the subject under discussion himself. "Though Bakara has Wrex pretty much domesticated, now."

"Grunt?" For once, even Kasumi was taken off guard. "What the Hell is the krogan Councillor doing roaming the lower levels on his own?"

"Looking for trouble, what else?" Urdnot Grunt told her. "See you're still packing that old Locust, Kasumi. Sentimental or something?"

"Nope." Kasumi replied. "Same reason as you're still using that Claymore. They haven't come up with anything that does the job better.

"What kind of trouble?"

"Rumours" Grunt told her. "I heard there were vorcha down here, so I came to take a look. But when I got to the place, they weren't vorcha, they were these."

He indicated a nearby corpse, which he had unmasked. The features were not vorcha, and though they were reptilian, they were not drell. Harsh-featured, with marked head-ridges, they were unfamiliar to Samara and Kasumi, but Kolyat gasped.

"Drakh!" He said. "They still exist!" To their questioning looks, he explained. "They are an ancient story, almost a legend, among my people. You know that when our world was dying, our people made the Compact with the hanar so that some of us at least would survive?

"Well the drakh also made us such an offer. Where they came from, we do not know, but there was much debate among our people. Then we found that the drakh had placed parasites they called Keepers on some of our leaders, and were controlling them. We refused the drakh offer and accepted the hanar one. The price the drakh were asking suddenly seemed too high."

"And they're still around, which means they either beat off or avoided the Reapers!" Kasumi said. "And now they seem to be working with Morden. Are they his 'associates', I wonder? How many of them are there on the Station, Grunt, did you find out?"

"None alive." The krogan replied. "I told you, I found their hiding place. I tried to talk to them, they tried to kill me, so I killed them.

"Anyone else hungry?"

"Never mind." Kasumi said. "Samara, there's a ship waiting. The story is you were critically wounded by Mordens' assassins and have gone back to Thessia to either die or retire. That should convince Tayba to keep dealing with Morden and allow us to find out more about him and his associates."

"And since I am not actually critically wounded, where am I going?" Samara asked. "I am sworn to hunt down Tayba for her treason, the Code does not permit me to abandon my mission."

"Neither does your Code set a limit on the time you take to accomplish it." Kolyat told her. "There are things you need to know, Justicar, before you proceed further down this path."

"You're going to Cronos Station." Kasumi said. "It's time you met the Grey Warden, Samara!"

They called him the 'Grey Warden' because he seldom appeared in public wearing anything but an old suit of grey N7 armour -the only splash of colour being the white and maroon stripes down the right arm. The face was ruggedly handsome despite the cybernetic left eye with its blue glow and silvery socket. That side of the head was a metal dome, while the other was covered in short-cropped grizzled brown hair. Rumour had it that his left arm was also cybernetic.

He now stood on the podium of the Assembly Hall, in the place usually occupied by Commander Lawson, who stood to the right and slightly behind him in Warsworn red and gold, her eagle eyes sweeping over the assembly, ready to spot the slightest flaw in stance, lack of attention, or speck of dirt on a uniform.

Benezia T'soni had not expected any of this when she joined the Warsworn. As a trained asari Commando, she'd assumed she would be given a position of rank, or at least put straight into active service. Instead she had been told she was a Recruit, no more.

What had followed had been as intense a programme of training as she had ever experienced. For a year she had drilled, exercised and studied. The instructors ranged from veterans of the turian Blackwatch through former salarian STG operatives to krogan Battlemasters, Alliance Marine drill sergeants and a former Regimental Sergeant-Major of the legendary Coldstream Guards.

Benezia had learned to use any weapon from a billy-club to a Blackstar Singularity Projector. Her implants had been upgraded to enhance her already considerable biotic abilities. She had been drilled in everything from escape and evade through sabotage and assassination to commanding a Dreadnought in a naval battle. She had passed some elements with flying colours, and others by the skin of her teeth. The price of failure was a pay-off, a letter of recommendation and a lifetime of regret. The prize for success was to be registered as a Hireling.

Hirelings stood guard, patrolled routes and served as general operatives on missions commanded by full Warsworn. Benezia learned patience, she learned to curb her quick temper. She learned to laugh at pranks played on her and make the pranksters laugh even harder when she got her revenge. She learned to obey good orders and question bad ones, to earn respect by giving it. She also made friends, good friends, all of whom were standing here now.

The Warden was seldom seen, but his presence pervaded Cronos Station and the Warsworn carried it with them. He was sometimes seen walking around the station with his characteristic limp. Many thought he might be in pain much of the time, and so kept to himself. Others felt that he was a man who had seen too much and who did not want to bring his personal demons into the lives of the people who worked for him. Now the assembled Hirelings heard him speak for the first time. His voice was surprisingly light and quiet, but carried absolute conviction.

"Hirelings," he began, "you've spent the last year doing scut-work and thinking, 'this isn't what I signed up for'. Most of you will have wondered what the Hell was happening when we put experienced soldiers back into basic training. By now, you'll have got the idea that the Warsworn are not just another Merc group like the Blue Suns, the Talons or the Scars.

"Well, you're right and you're wrong. The fact is that the entire concept of armies and soldiering started with mercenaries. It started when villages of farmers offered food and winter quarters to tribes of nomad warriors in exchange for protection against other nomadic tribes. That led to the feudal system on one hand, and professional soldiers on the other. It led to groups of specialised warriors like the Spartans and the Samurai, and professional armies like the legions of Rome.

"Every world, every species, has had its mercenaries, and there have always been two kinds. The kind who're no more than bandits -ready to change sides when given a better offer, or turn to crime in lean times, like Eclipse or the Blue Suns. Then there are the other kind. The ones who care about who they work for. The ones who carry out a contract regardless of counter-offers or bribes. The ones who act like soldiers and take pride in themselves and their organisation. That is what the Warsworn are. What we are.

"Each race has its own military, of course. They are at the service of their governments and their people when worlds are in danger. But they can't be everywhere. There are thousands of colonies in the Galaxy. Colonies from every race who, for some reason or another, are not part of their races' government, who don't wish to answer to the Union, or the Hierarchy, or the Alliance, or even the Council. But they are still good, honest people for the most part. They have trade, they have businesses and farms, and there are others out there who would like to take that from them. For profit or for power.

"There are problems; groups out there who are dangerous and vicious. Pirates, slavers, drug dealers and gun-runners. And because they too are outside Council space, they cannot be dealt with officially. The Council has its Spectres, of course. But there are never many of them and they aren't a military force as such.

"These are the gaps we fill, then. These are the people we protect, and the ones we hunt down. Yes, we ask to be paid for our trouble, but never more than our clients can afford. In return, they receive our absolute guarantee of loyalty and professionalism. The promise that we will get the job done.

"That's who we are. That's what you signed up for. So if any of you don't like it, you can leave right now and nothing more will be said. Anyone want to leave?"

Nobody did, it seemed, for after a pause, the Warden went on.

"You've all passed some of the toughest training there is. You all came here steeped in the military doctrines of your own people. We've taught you the best from every one of those doctrines. Made it so that you can adapt to any enemy, any situation, any strategy. That's what I had to learn to survive, and I hope I've passed it on to you so you can.

"So now you're not Hirelings any more. As of today, each and every one of you is pledged of shield and Sworn to War. Pledgeshields -acknowledge yourselves and each other!"

There was applause, cheering, jumping up and down and hugging, even a few tears. As it quieted down, they saw that the Warden had disappeared. Commander Lawson now stood at the lectern, and as silence fell, she looked out over the new Warsworn and, for the first time since any of them had met her, she smiled.

"I'm proud of you all," she said without preamble, "even the ones who were a pain in my ass -you know who you are!

"Now, you should each have received a message. It tells you where and when to report, and who to, in two days' time. That's when the real work starts! But between then and now, the time is yours. You've earned it, so enjoy it!

"And so you can make a start, there's drink and food on the tables round the hall. I know you'll be hungry, you always are!"

The party was quite low-key. The seriousness of what the Warden had said, of what they had signed up for, was beginning to seep through. To be fair, they were also tired. The last week had been one of tests, and the examiners had not been easy-going. So the room was full of little knots of friends, talking, laughing, reminiscing and speculating.

Benezia was standing with her friends as well. Nerab Solus, a fast-talking salarian who was a descendant of Mordin Solus -the salarian who had cured the genophage. The turian twins, voluble Larsus and his laconic sister Seera. There was a soft-spoken geth sniper unit that called itself Hawkeye and finally the hulking, ferocious but warm-hearted krogan, Drokk.

"You think they'll let us work together?" Larsus was asking.

"No reason why not." Nerab replied. "Complementary skills, Understand each other well. Work together without unnecessary talk."

"Except for my brother." Seera pointed out.

"Somebody has to keep up your end of the conversation." Drokk told her.

"We suspect that the formation of such groups is part of the training process." Hawkeye supplied. "To see who can work with whom."

"In that case, if I were in charge, I'd put people together who don't fit." Benezia responded. "You have to be able to work with anyone if a unit is going to work."

"They already did that, while we were Hirelings." Larsus noted. "Or didn't you notice that? Sure, they kept us close to at least one friend, but we got assigned to work with some real assholes as well.

"But a guy who's an asshole to you is probably some other assholes' best pal."

"And they probably thought we were the assholes." Benezia realised. "Now my Mom would have noticed that. Guess I'm too much like my Dad."

"You don't often mention your father." Drokk commented.

Benezia shrugged. "He was human, he died when I was young, but he was a great dad while I had him."

The talk moved on. They were laughing at one of Drokks' tall tales when Commander Lawson came over.

"Pledgeshield T'soni?" She said. "Would you come with me, please?"

They moved off.

"What's this about?" Benezia asked.

"It isn't 'about' anything." Miranda replied. "It's the Wardens' custom to have a private word with each Pledgeshield when they qualify. It's just your turn, that's all.

"Through here, door at the end of the corridor. Just knock."

The room beyond the door was obviously a place for quiet talk. Low table, comfortable chairs. One wall had a large, well-stocked, aquarium; another held mounted weapons interspersed with pictures of various people – most of whom Benezia had known all her life.

But she only had eyes for the man who had risen to greet her. He was wearing an old-style grey Alliance uniform, and the old familiar smile lit his face. She walked straight into his arms and hugged him hard.

"It's good to see you, Dad!" She said.


	5. Chapter 5

**Signs and Portents**

 **Chapter Five**

The planet Horizon had a chequered history. Despite a location at the far reaches of the Attican Traverse and on the borders of Terminus, it's human-friendly atmosphere, gravity and climate had made it an ideal colony for humans who disliked the idea of living under Alliance or Council rule. The colony had prospered to an extent that after the geth attacks of 2183, the Alliance had earmarked it for an outreach programme.

But in 2185, Horizon was attacked by the Collectors, fully a third of its population being 'harvested' before Commander Shepard and his Cerberus allies had arrived to drive them off. The attack had only hardened the colonists' convictions regarding Alliance and Council, so no government officials had been there to investigate when the Sanctuary organisation had built a centre there and begun inviting refugees from the Reaper War.

They had arrived in their thousands and, along with the remaining colonists, disappeared just as quickly. Miranda Lawson, in search of her kidnapped sister Oriana, had discovered that Sanctuary was merely a front for a Cerberus operation. The refugees were being transformed into zombie-like Husks to further the Illusive Man's goal of controlling the Reapers. The intervention of Commander Shepard had allowed Miranda to expose the fraud and end the career of her psychotic father, Henry Lawson.

Horizon no longer supported colonists – the place had gained the reputation of being 'cursed', and unlike the similarly afflicted Eden Prime, it was not a symbol for Humanity at large – but it was not uninhabited. The Cerberus buildings had been repaired and re-purposed as the Institute for Galactic Historical Studies, a place where academics from all races could go to study either their own or other species' history.

What was less well-known was that the Institutes' celebrated Director, Dr Liara T'soni, was also the Shadow Broker, the most feared and powerful information broker in the Galaxy.

Vega and Ivanova were directed to the Directors' office, where Vega was greeted with a hug.

"It's so good to see you!" Liara declared. "It's been too long! I'm so busy here that I hardly get time to meet up with old friends anymore."

"Same here." Vega admitted. "Liara, this is…

"Lieutenant-Commander Susan Ivanova, N7 and Probationary Spectre." Liara forestalled him. "I assure you, Lieutenant-Commander, that if you can survive your Supervising Officer, you can survive anything!"

"Dios, Liara, don't sugar the pill!" Vega complained. "Probie, this is Dr Liara T'soni, alias the Shadow Broker!"

"I thought you'd be taller." Ivanova said as she shook hands with Liara. "And dressed in black. More sinister."

Liara laughed. "A lot of people do. But then Spectres, at least the male ones, are supposed to be handsome and dashing, but look at James!"

" _Gracias, hermanita_." Vega said wryly. "But now the serious stuff is over, let's get to the fun, eh?"

"Of course." Liara said. "Now this isn't widely known, but the STG have been surveying worlds since the Reaper War, looking out for pre-spaceflight cultures."

"Now why am I not surprised?" James asked. "After the mess with the krogan took centuries to put right, plus that business with the yahg, they've gotta be a little paranoid."

"True," Liara acknowledged, "and I know they have several units on Parnack tasked with keeping the yahg out of space. Not that it's hard, the yahg have a pack mentality, find the concept of equality offensive and are so aggressive that it's ridiculously easy to start a war between factions. Which the STG do as soon as one faction comes close to completing a spaceship.

"The minbari, on the other hand, were already too far along to be stopped, even if the salarians had considered them a threat, which they didn't.

"But the world we're interested in is called Narn. The native species are reptilian, highly intelligent, very tough and are more of a philosophical and religious bent than a warlike one. The Protheans left nothing on Narn, it seems the race was not advanced enough to interest them at the time.

"However, Narn does seem to have been conquered by an expansionist race called the centauri, who did have advanced technology. They never came in contact with any Council or associated species, so we don't know much about them. They did, though, end up in a war with the batarians about fifty years before the Eden Prime War. They were forced to withdraw from Narn, taking most if not all of their tech with them. The war with the batarians ended in stalemate, but neither side was able to occupy Narn.

"It seems the centauri were hit by the Reapers at the same time as the batarians, and completely wiped out. But the Reapers ignored the narn as they did the yahg and the minbari.

"Since then, the narn have been steadily developing, partly due to some things the centauri couldn't or didn't take away with them, but mostly through their own efforts. The STG observe them, and occasionally leave them a little hint. They predict the narn will be able to contribute well to Galactic society in time, but they appreciate the risks of premature uplifting, now."

"Nice story." Ivanova noted. "But what does it have to do with the mission?"

"Nothing directly." Liara admitted. "But apparently, the centauri were not the first race to invade Narn. The narn people value tradition, and had a long oral history which was eventually written down. The scribes who did this first were called the Prophets, and they mixed a good deal of moral and ethical philosophy in with their historical writings, precepts most narn still try to live by."

She opened a desk drawer and brought out a book – an old-fashioned paper volume, but octagonal rather than rectangular. As she opened it to a page marked with a slip of plastic, Vega and Ivanova saw that it was hand-written.

"The narn have had printing for centuries, of course." Liara said. "they have scanning and copying tech, too. But it's considered a violation of tradition to print or scan a Prophetic Work. Every young narn is expected, before coming into full adult status, to make a hand-written copy of the book written by the Prophet he wishes to follow. Families have whole libraries of copies made by their ancestors. It took a little sleight of hand for the STG to produce this facsimile of the Book of G'quan.

"Look!"

One of the pages was covered in an undecipherable script. The other was a full-page illustration of a black, spider-like object, apparently the size of a frigate - if the tiny figures in positions of abject fear before it were to scale.

"That looks like the ship Marcus told us about, only smaller!" Vega said.

"Do you know what the writing says?" Ivanova asked.

"The salarians provided a translation." Liara said. "As best they can make out, it says:

 _In the reign of Emperor K'vas, when the Mindspeakers were many and honoured among us, the Shadows from the Sky came. They set the city of Q'imvar aflame and the Emperor was burned in his palace._

 _When K'vas' son, K'tah, became Emperor, the Shadows came again, like black scorpions who spoke in the narn tongue. The told the Emperor that tribute must be made of all Mindspeakers above the age of adulthood, or all the cities of Narn would burn as Q'imvar had. K'tah took counsel with the Kh'ari, and it was decided to sacrifice the thousands to save the millions._

 _Each decade for ten centuries the Shadows came for their tribute, and each time there were fewer, for they took young Mindspeakers before they had time to pass their blood to children, while some hid their gift._

 _After the Blue Crystal was discovered, the Shadows came no more. But it was too late, and now if Mindpeakers yet walk among us, they do so in darkness and secrecy, and part of the life of our people was no more._

"This 'Blue Crystal' turns out to be Element Zero." Liara went on. "Narn has vast deposits of it, which is why the centauri occupied the planet and strip-mined whole areas. They didn't get more than ten per cent of what's there even after two decades of occupation!

"But the weirdest thing is that the narn themselves are completely immune to it. To them Element Zero is just a pretty blue gem they use for decoration. They don't have a trace of biotic potential among them."

"Well, clearly these Shadows don't like it." Ivanova noted. "And if they're the same things we encountered on Omega, they seem as vulnerable to biotics as anyone else. More so, because none of them tried to counter Cole or I when we used them!"

"What worries me," Vega said, "is that these Shadows were around, and advanced...how long ago?"

"As far as the STG can tell, the Book of G'quan was written maybe fifteen hundred years ago." Liara revealed.

"Holy Hell!" James said. "It took a couple million years for humans to advance as far as we have, and most of it in the last five hundred years! If these Shadows are that old, how come the Reapers didn't take 'em out? Or did the Shadows beat 'em off? And if they could do that, why didn't they come help us?"

"Because they didn't know about us, or didn't care, maybe?" Ivanova hazarded. "I mean, the Council and associated races all knew about each other, and some had been allies for centuries, but it still took months for Commander Shepard to persuade them to act together!"

"That it did, and it nearly killed him, several times." Vega replied. "But why are these Shadows – if it is them – suddenly getting aggressive now?"

 _The blackness was all-enfolding, and oddly comforting. Shepards' pain had retreated, it was manageable. The weariness was still with him, though, and it was pleasant to be still for a while – it seemed that he had not been still since the Reapers hit Earth, apart from a few moments and one blessed night with Liara._

 _But then a voice penetrated the darkness. A womans' voice, with an odd, flat accent._

" _You need to get a shift on, we've not got much time."_

" _You have taken us out of time." Loriens' voice._

" _As far as the battle's concerned, I have." The woman responded with a touch of impatience. "But I can't stop his personal time, and he's dying. We can't take him anywhere to get patched up, we're messing the timeline about as it is. Fixed point, remember?"_

" _I know," was Loriens' response, "I created it, without meaning to. But he must be able to make an informed decision."_

" _Which you'll abide by?" Her voice was stern now. "Because I'm not popping in and out of time with him until you get the outcome you want!"_

" _Of course." Lorien sounded sad. "The decision is entirely his. I merely wish him to know the consequences of what he does. He does not know it, but he has been manipulated throughout his life, and not by those he might suspect, or even know of. That is my fault, and that is what I am trying to put right. You agreed to help, old friend."_

" _I know," she said, "because part of what went wrong was down to my people as well. But he's still running out of time!"_

" _I can sustain him for a little longer." Lorien promised. "Unlike yours, my regeneration energy is infinite. I sometimes wish it were not."_

 _Then a feeling of warmth stole through Shepard, and the pain receded further. Again, he saw._

 _He saw himself leaping into the green-white light of synthesis. Saw his body dissolve. Saw the green wave spread across the Galaxy as the red wave had done. The Reapers ceased to fight. People…changed. Their eyes acquired a green glow. Suddenly communication was easier, understanding was absolute._

 _The Galaxy prospered. Great projects were undertaken. Tuchanka flowered, Rannoch became a world where healthy, strong children ran in the open air without suits. The asari found an answer to the problem of the Ardat-Yakshi. The Council grew as more races achieved the necessary levels of advancement._

 _Then the black ships came boiling out of Terminus, wreaking havoc. But before they could do more than a little damage, the other ships came. Like Reapers, with long hulls and tentacles at the bow. But they were organic – grown or bred, not built. They drove the black ships back to the Rim, and then the crews came out to meet the Galaxy. Creatures in strange, elaborate suits they never doffed._

 _They sought out leaders. They advised, they taught. They were invited onto the Council, where they became subtly dominant. The races began to merge, to shed their differences. They learned how to network their minds as the geth had always done. Community by community, world by world, race by race, they began to merge. The asari tore down their graceful edifices to build brutal functional blocks. The quarians dismantled the unresisting geth and began to graft the parts onto and into their own bodies. It took centuries, but eventually every intelligent being on every Council world was a mixture of organic and cybernetic, all linked into a single matrix, except for their suited mentors._

 _Then the great, cubical ships were built. Ships which needed no relays, but could travel the length of the Galaxy in minutes through corridors outside space and time. They swarmed over the Galaxy, coming to every world that bore intelligent life. Always bearing the same message: "You will be assimilated. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile."_

 _Then when the Milky Way was absorbed, they ventured beyond, to Galaxy after Galaxy. Powerful, adaptive, unstoppable, bringing every intelligent species into one Collective._

 _The organic ships and their suited crews went back to where they had come from. They had established Order throughout the Universe. Their work was done._

 _Then the darkness came back. But this time Shepard could not rest. He needed to think, to know more. He still had a decision to make, if he lived long enough. But the very foundations of what that decision was about had changed._

The attack on the Turian Sixth Fleet was unexpected, savage and ultimately foolish. A routine patrol of border systems was interrupted when a dozen ships of unknown configuration suddenly emerged from the Relay and attacked without warning.

Most of the ships seemed to be cruisers of some kind, but two of them were much larger vessels whose function became clear as they launched swarms of large, heavy strike craft -either fighters or corvettes. Before anyone could react, one turian ship was destroyed and another badly damaged and adrift.

But it didn't take long for the turians to react. The Sixth Fleet had more dreadnoughts than any other Council fleet, and as the smaller ships clustered around these titans, they unleashed a hail of fire on the attackers.

The enemy ships packed a level of firepower disproportionate to their size, but in doing so they had clearly skimped on shielding and armour. One devastating volley from the dreadnoughts crippled or destroyed half their fleet. Despite this, the unknown ships continued to press their attack with a savage recklessness that matched the vorcha.

It took an hour of brutal fighting, and the loss of another turian frigate, to put the entire enemy fleet out of action. Then there was a hail from the last remaining carrier, itself aflame.

Admiral Sareos took the message, which came by QEC. The holo-projector showed an unknown species. Reptilian with a craggy, scaled face, pronounced cranial ridges and glowing red eyes.

"We are the drakh." The figure said. "You will acknowledge that we are at war."

Sareos shrugged. "Not my call." He said. "We just defended ourselves against an unprovoked attack. Like you, I'm just a field commander, the people we both answer to will decide if there's going to be a war or not."

"We are drakh." Was the reply. "We attacked you. You destroyed us. There must be war."

Sareos' flanges spread in an expression of irritation. "Look," he said, "I don't know who you are. You could be a pirate, or a rogue faction of the drakh trying to start trouble for your own reasons. Until and unless my government talks to your government, this isn't a war.

"Anyway, we didn't destroy you. You've taken some bad hits, but a lot of your fleet is still relatively intact. I'll be sending out shuttles to take off surviving crew. Tell your people to co-operate -they don't want to take on turian marines, and we don't want to kill any more of you."

"You did destroy us." The drakh replied, then cut the connection. As Sareos wondered what he had meant, a call came though from the CIC.

"Admiral! All the enemy ships just blew themselves to Hell! Some kind of auto-destruct. No life-pods, no survivors."

"I'm actually glad you're here." Captain Botes was saying. "Not that I wouldn't be anyway -we don't get new faces often – but you particularly."

"Why me?" Vega asked.

"Because you're a Spectre, and right now I need somebody who can decide a big problem for me, for us." Botes said.

Like all salarians, the Captain was hyper by human standards. Salarian metabolism was fast, they barely needed sleep, ate six meals a day and, rarely lived more than forty years; less than half the human lifespan and a mere blink to a krogan or asari. They made up for it by packing more into their short lives than many longer-loved races even tried to.

Botes was pacing around the small briefing room on the salarian frigate he commanded, filling in reports as he talked.

"I'm not STG myself, I'm Fleet, the STG team is led by Doctor Prelam Terrik. He's a good man, knows his job. He also knows that I have to be the judge of when we leave here.

"The narn are advancing fast. They're smart people, methodical and thorough, they keep records of everything and they never make the same mistake twice. They're also getting help. A little from us, but more from a ship that comes here once a year. A ship from a race we don't know."

"A black ship?" Ivanova asked.

"No, silver." Botes said. "The black ship is part of the problem, and I'll get to that in a moment. This ship comes once a year, a member of the narn Kh'ari meets the captain from his shuttle – always the same person. The captain gives the narn information in whatever format the narn are currently using, and leaves with a load of eezo.

"We've tracked the ship, of course, followed it. It goes to a previously unmapped relay that leads to a small system just outside Council space. The system has one habitable planet -a garden world, very comfortable for humans, a bit dry for us. There's one city there, housing the entire population, maybe five hundred thousand people. Automated agriculture and industry, as far as we can tell, and not that much of either. One ship. But the entire planet is surrounded by massive defence and detection grid. Even STG spy planes couldn't get close enough to learn more.

"But again, not the problem. The narn are on the edge of discovering the Mass Effect. They already have ion-drive ships and they've explored most of this system. They know where the Mass Relay is and they have a permanent space station studying it. So far, we've managed to evade detection. Their satellites are scientific rather than military, or turned to the planet rather than space. We keep hidden because this is a stealth frigate and because we're in a fixed orbit on the dark side of the second moon. The shuttles we use are small enough to evade detection. It helps that there's a local dust cloud so the planet gets meteor showers most nights. Nobody down there notices another falling star.

"So it's getting time to pull out and go back to the Council to suggest first contact before the narn use the relay and end up in trouble."

"So, what's the problem?" Vega wanted to know.

"Prelam." Botes said. "As I said, he's a good man, but now he wants to push for immediate first contact. He wants to do that because narn archaeologists have dug up an ancient spaceship. A black one. How did you know about that?"

"I didn't, but it might have something to do with our mission." Vega told him. "You got pictures?"

"Of course." Botes activated his omni-tool and brought up an image on the briefing rooms holo projector. "The actual ship is still half-buried, but this is an extrapolation of what it should look like."

It was the same as the picture in the Book of G'quan, the same type of ship that Marcus Cole had described.

"Dios!" Vega swore. "They're all over! Probie, send a copy of this to Cole, ask him to confirm that this is like the ship that attacked the _Xavarian_. Captain, get your Doctor in here. I'm giving Spectre authorisation for first contact!"

The fact that every omni-tool now carried a geth-created Universal Translator app had made first contact much easier. So had the habit of covertly observing upcoming races before they achieved FTL space travel.

Still, it was something of a surprise to Vega and the others that Councilman G'kar, of the Kh'ari -the ruling council of Narn -was so unsurprised. G'kar was as tall and broad-shouldered as Vega, dressed in heavy leather that had been pierced and stitched in elaborate patterns. His face was very human-like, but he was hairless and the skin was composed of fine scales, giving him a snakelike appearance. His eyes were steady, piercing and bright red. Though his skin was smooth, and his movements spoke of vigour, there was an air about him that indicated he was no longer young. His voice was an unexpected tenor.

"You must understand, Commander, my people have known that intelligent life exists beyond Narn for centuries. Ever since the centauri came. And of course, the Prophets, or most of them, speak of the Shadows from the Sky.

"That is not to say that the stories in the Books were believed to be absolute fact, of course. The books themselves were collections of oral tales, made at a time when few narn could write at all. Such written works as are contemporary are mostly carved on stone or etched on metal, in a variety of priestly scripts and cyphers our historians have yet to translate. The discovery of this ship by Professor Na'toth and her team has shone a light into a very dark corner of our history.

"That said it is a cause of considerable relief to us that you are prepared to take the object away. Many of the Prophets speak of the return of the Shadows, but now what was once a tale to scare naughty children has become to many a very real threat. Most narn believe that if you take the thing away, the Shadows will no longer be able to find us."

"You're saying this ship has some kind of beacon, and it's active?" Vega asked.

"Not exactly." This was Professor Na'toth, a tall, strikingly attractive narn woman and the Chief Archaeologist on the dig that had unearthed the ship. "The ship, or rather the pilot, is broadcasting, but not by technological means.

"Tell them, G'kar."

"If you are sure…" He said. She nodded, so he turned to Vega and his party. "Na'toth is a Mindspeaker, what you would call a telepath." He revealed. "We had believed there were none left, but it seems they have preserved themselves in secrecy over several centuries."

"We are, to all intents and purposes, an extended family." Na'toth explained. "We are able to communicate mentally over large distances, and our network covers the world. But the power is as often a curse as it is a gift. As our numbers grew, so did those among us who suffer because of their ability.

"Because of that, some decades ago, we approached the Kh'ari to reveal ourselves and ask for help. They agreed that our existence should be kept secret from most narn."

"The Kh'ari are aware that there is a deep undercurrent of superstition among our people as regards the Shadows." G'kar told them. "It was felt that revealing the continued existence of Mindspeakers among us would bring about a panic among those who believe that only a lack of those with the talent keeps the Shadows from returning."

"We had suspected something of the kind." Dr Terrik put in. "Information among certain of your people has a way of arriving at far distant places much more quickly that your current methods of transmission allow for."

"Salarians don't miss much." Vega told G'kar. "You'll want us to keep this to ourselves for now?"

"We would be grateful." G'kar replied. "But it may be that when the narn are more fully a part of your society, we shall ask for your help in finding means to ease the suffering of those to whom the ability is a cause of distress."

"For now, let's show you the ship." Na'toth said.

The black ship had been almost entirely uncovered. It wasn't a large one, perhaps corvette class, but decidedly scary.

"Cole?" Vega asked.

The Warsworn nodded. "Not nearly as big, but the same technology and configuration."

"Gives me the creeps." Ivanova added. "Which is weird, because it isn't actually doing anything!"

"It is." Na'toth told her. "The whole thing is generating a low-level telepathic signal designed to create a feeling of unease. People have avoided this hilltop for generations without really knowing why. When I came here, I realised what the problem was and managed to convince my team to dig here. Once they started, their enthusiasm for the work seemed to counteract the warning signal."

"How do you get into this thing?" Vega wanted to know. "I don't see a hatch or a cabin."

"There isn't one." Na'toth said. "At least, not that we can find. How the pilot could get in and out is a mystery."

"One with a short answer." Dr Terrik said as he studied his omni-tool. "There is indeed a pilot in there. Species unknown, in stasis like the rest of the ship. He seems to have been built into the ship, literally. Bio-technological grafting. He's part of it and it is part of him. Revolting but fascinating.

"Also, both ship and pilot are several millennia old. That shouldn't be possible unless…. Nano-technology? If so, it's incredibly advanced!"

"Nano-technology?" Vega asked.

"Molecule-sized machines." Dr Terrik explained. "Capable of being programmed to perform complex tasks. We've been experimenting with them for medical purposes -less invasive than traditional surgery because they work from inside the patient. But if this is nano-tech, it's way beyond anything we have!"

"Are all salarians like that?" Na'toth asked Marcus quietly.

"No," he told her, "some of them are _really_ hyper!"

"OK." Vega said. "We can get this thing into the shuttle bay. It'll be tight, but we can do it. Then we get it to B5 where the Council can get anyone who knows anything to look at it. At the least, if we can download the navigation log, we can find out where it comes from!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Signs and Portents**

 **Chapter Six**

"To say I am surprised would be to understate the case," Samara was saying, "but to say that I am delighted would be equally so! I had mourned you as dead, Shepard, as I have mourned so many over the years. To find you alive is a rare moment of joy in what has been life of too many sorrows.

"That said, I should perhaps not be surprised. Your knack for avoiding certain death is legendary, my friend!"

Shepard smiled wryly. "I feel a little guilty about not letting you know, Samara, but I needed to keep my survival quiet. Nothing good would come of letting the Galaxy at large know I was still around."

"You were never comfortable with your status as humanitys' hero, were you?" Samara noted.

He shook his head. "It isn't just that." He explained. "I'm a soldier, Samara. I've been one all my adult life. If they knew I was alive, they'd have loaded me with medals and then…."

"Then they would have paraded you around the Galaxy as the Hero of the Reaper War, and sidelined you." Samara guessed. "Kept you in a closet to wheel you out when they needed to inspire the masses."

"I won't be a puppet, Samara." Shepard growled. "Or a sideshow. But I couldn't just sit around and do nothing, so I created the Warsworn, to help when traditional military can't or won't."

"Out of curiosity, who else knows?" Samar asked.

"Miranda, of course." Shepard told her. "She helped me set the whole thing up.

"Liara knows. Even if I'd wanted to keep it from her, I couldn't have done, she's too good. She'd have gotten a picture, a description, and she'd have known. She'd have been heartbroken if I'd kept it from her, and so would I.

"I had to let Kasumi in on it as well. She's too valuable an asset to waste as a loose cannon, but she wouldn't work exclusively for just anyone.

"As to anyone else, they might have suspicions, but no more. The others, Garrus, Kaidan and the rest, had gotten so used to following my lead that…."

"You wanted them to grow up. Learn that they could do things that mattered without you." Samara asked. "Did you worry they could not?"

Shepard sighed. "Kaidan and Tali were just kids when I met them. Jack was lost and damaged. Garrus… he's a turian, born and bred to follow rules and orders, but he was a rebel, a maverick, everything a good turian shouldn't be, and he knew it. I gave him a direction, a reason for doing things that he could see for himself, not just orders from above. As to Grunt, as far as he's concerned, I'm still his Battlemaster, always will be."

"You were not concerned about me?" Samara asked with a rare smile.

Shepard answered with a smile of his own. "You – and Zaeed – were veterans when I met you. Far more experienced than me. You did just what I thought you'd do – carry on as you always had. I also figured you wouldn't let them make a Matriarch out of you!"

Samara shook her head. "The life of a Justicar is by its nature a lonely one. We do not become involved with communities, but visit or pass through them whilst on the hunt, and often only see the worst of them. Such experience does not make one Matriarch material.

"But am I to take it that Liaras' daughters are also yours, Shepard?"

"So she tells me." Shepard laughed.

Samara smiled again. "I think I guessed it, anyway, with the elder at least. Young Benezia is what you humans call a 'chip off the old block', is she not?"

"That she is." Shepard allowed. "Shiara takes after her mother – she's brilliant and gentle.

"Speaking of kids, how is Falere?"

"She has rebuilt the monastery on Lesuss." Samara told him. "Once again, it is a place of sanctuary for the Ardat-Yakshi who choose to dwell there. She is in close correspondence with Oriana Lawson regarding a possible cure for her condition."

Shepard nodded. "Knowing that she and her sister were created and genetically-modified by their father inspired Oriana to become a geneticist. Maybe something good will come from Henry Lawsons' ambition. Shame she never got to meet Mordin Solus. Or maybe not -they'd still be talking now!"

"This conversation, pleasant as it may be, is not the reason you invited me here, or revealed your survival to me, Shepard." Samara observed after a pause. "There is something afoot, or I would not be here. I suspect that this Morden, and the creatures who ambushed me -the drakh – are merely symptoms of a larger menace. You do not concern yourself with small ones, Shepard, unless you are helping a friend."

"You're right, of course." Shepard admitted. "It seems that your quarry, Tayba, is aligning herself with forces we know little or nothing about. We've seen this before, Samara, and it never ends well.

"Legion, have the Commander and the Ancient of War join us, please."

The _Iwo Jima_ picked up the distress call just before they reached the Mass Relay.

"Abort approach run!" Captain Traynor ordered. "Patch me through!"

The face that appeared on the viewer was minbari, but the head-bone was carved and drilled in a far more elaborate pattern than the others Traynor had seen.

"This is Captain Draal of the minbari battleship _Black Star_. We are under attack from an unknown enemy, outnumbered and outgunned. Any ship in the area please assist!"

"The message is on a loop, Captain." The Comms officer said. "We can't respond -they're not listening – but I have a location. We're three minutes out at light-speed."

"Get us there!" Traynor barked. "Sound General Quarters! We may have to come out shooting."

She was suddenly aware of Vega standing just behind her. He said nothing, but knowing he was there made things better. Samantha Traynor was a Comms specialist by training and a scientist by inclination. The Reaper War had pushed her into battle, made her a captain eventually, but she wasn't always confident in combat. Having James, with his years of experience, to hand made her feel better.

The minbari ship was big brute, almost as large as an Alliance dreadnought. But its 'angel fish' configuration made it look fragile. Something it clearly was not, as it was defending itself with some success against three black, spiderlike craft that were swooping around it.

"Holy Hell!" Vega said from behind Traynor.

"Two frigates and a cruiser." Jima reported. "The minbari vessel has taken some damage. Mass Effect drive is offline. Shields down to thirty per cent. They cannot hold much longer."

"They've seen us!" Shouted the Ops Officer. "One of the frigates is coming for us!"

"Evasive manoeuvres!" Traynor ordered, as the frigate bore down on them.

Then the scream started. It wasn't a sound, it was in the brain, not the ears. A raw, high-pitched screech designed to scare and distract. Traynor heard Vega swear as she felt the adrenalin surge through her. _Fight or flight_ , she thought. But the 'sound' was pitched at a level that made her angry, not afraid, and she could sense the same reaction in her crew.

Then the _Iwo Jima_ slipped gracefully aside as the red beam from the enemy frigate swept down through the place she had been. The two ships shot past each other. The black ship began to come about in a tight circle, but the Alliance pilot -trained by Joker – managed to turn the _Iwo Jima_ within her own length.

"Fire!" Traynor commanded. The frigates' twin Thanix cannon scored a direct hit. Whatever the alien ship was made of, it clearly couldn't withstand slugs made from iron, uranium and tungsten travelling at two-thirds the speed of light. It exploded spectacularly.

"How are the minbari doing?" Traynor demanded.

"Holding." Jima replied. "Their Mass Effect generator is back online, and they are using it to reinforce their shields. They still cannot manoeuvre.

"It is unlikely our weapons will prove effective against the enemy cruiser, which is heavily shielded. The minbari weapons will be, but they are being forced to defend themselves against the other enemy frigate."

"OK, OK." Traynor said. "Set an intercept course. We have to pull that frigate away from them so they can concentrate on the cruiser."

"Captain!" The Comms officer called. "I just got a message. We have a geth destroyer maybe five minutes out!"

"That's good." Vega noted. "Geth ships punch way above their weight."

"Lets' hope we can hold on until they arrive!" Traynor replied. "I've got a feeling we won't catch these lot out so easily twice!"

Traynors' instincts were spot-on. The _Iwo Jima_ did manage to draw the black frigate away from the minbari ship, but then the fight settled into a pilots' duel, both ships manoeuvring around each other, each attempting to stay out of the others' firing line while trying to line up a shot for themselves. The enemy ship was not screaming at them this time. Traynor guessed that the spectacular demise of the other frigate had caused some doubt about the effectiveness of psychological warfare. Speaking of which…

"Jima, have you got a handle on their systems yet?" She asked.

"Negative." The AI replied with a touch of frustration in its' tone. "The enemy does not appear to utilise any form of tech that my cyber-warfare or ECM suites can hack or block. Control systems appear to be neurological rather than cybernetic in nature, and I can detect no sensor or targeting systems of any kind."

"Dammit!" Traynor said. "That can't be right! They spotted us right away, even with our stealth systems deployed!"

"Not 'they'," Jima responded, "I detect only one life-form aboard each of the enemy ships."

Before anyone could respond to that, the semi-insectile shape of the geth destroyer dropped out of FTL a hundred kilometres behind the enemy cruiser. A calm, well-modulated voice came over the comms.

"This is Geth Destroyer Command. Where do you wish us to engage?"

"Hit that cruiser!" Traynor ordered. "They've got the minbari on the ropes!"

Without further ado, the geth ship began to advance. Neither of the enemy ships took the slightest notice.

"What the Hell?" Vega said. "They must be able to detect that thing! They spotted a stealth frigate right off the bat!"

"Perhaps the geth ship contains nothing they are looking for." Jima suggested cryptically.

Then the geth ship opened fire. The geth economy is not an economy as such. The interlinked AI programs that constitute the Consensus do not require food, clothing, rest or leisure-time. Their needs are entirely met by mining and refining the material needed to construct the servers they inhabit and the platforms they share run-times on. Expense not being an issue, geth tech concentrates on fitness for purpose. A geth destroyer is designed and built to destroy, mounting massive plasma cannon and powerful X-ray lasers. Its first fusillade had two effects: it reduced the enemy cruiser to burning fragments, and caused the frigate to go into what can only be described as a panic attack.

The ship hung still in space, emitting a 'sound' that this time held no menace, only fear and shock. Traynor took ruthless advantage, and the _Iwo Jimas_ ' cannon made short work of the paralysed vessel.

There was a moment of quiet then the face of Captain Draal appeared on the comm projector. He looked drawn and tired, his face was bruised and smudged with dirt, but his voice was steady.

"My thanks to you all." He said. "The ship is now under repair. Before I return to Minbar to surrender my command, may I request a meeting aboard one of your ships? There are matters we must discuss."

 _Shepard stood before the Crucible again, still surrounded by silver light, the figure of Lorien beside him._

" _I have shown you all I can, Shepard." The alien said. "Now you must decide."_

 _Shepard indicated the blue console. "You never showed me what would happen if I used that."_

" _That I cannot show you." Lorien admitted. "What lies along that path is blind time. I could only show you the consequences of a final decision. The decision to control the Reapers is not a final one, the future beyond it will be shaped in part by any further decisions you make. The Reapers are a powerful force, and the decisions of the one who controls them will make great differences."_

" _So you're basically saying that humanity – in fact all the races – are doomed unless I choose to control the Reapers." Shepard said._

" _That is your opinion." Lorien stated. "The futures I have shown you present the paths of unrestrained chaos or unopposed order. You may favour either one of them, I cannot read your mind. The third path is uncertain, and could lead to a worse doom, or a better future. The difference is that you would have a part in shaping it. The capacity to make decisions, and the power to make them count. But you would not necessarily be the man you are now._

" _All I can tell you is to remember the questions I asked when first we met, find your answers, and act accordingly. But you have little time. I cannot sustain you any longer without binding us together forever – which would serve neither of us. Nor can my ally keep you out of time for much longer without causing disruption to a fixed point -something which would have unthinkable consequences._

" _We shall not meet again, Commander Shepard. Choose well."_

 _Then Lorien was gone, the light with him. Shepard was hurting, exhausted. He guessed he was dying. But it was all on him, now. It always had been, he realised. He moved forward -time to act._

The briefing and conference room aboard the _Iwo Jima_ was not large or impressive, but it was functional. The facilities aboard the _Black Star_ were damaged, while there was no such space in the geth ship.

Vega sat beside Traynor and considered their guests. The minbari captain, Draal, was as tall as Vega, a rangy man clad in a black uniform. He had cleaned himself up, but his face was still drawn and there was a definite slump to his shoulders. He had with him another minbari. A small man with the simply-decorated head bone and pastel robes Vega associated with the religious caste. His name was Rennek and he had a thin, unremarkable face, except for his eyes, which had a penetrating _inward_ focus.

At the other side of the table stood – they had no chair it could have used – a towering geth Prime. "We are Destroyer Command." It told them. "We apologise for this platform, but destroyers are not equipped with Locutus units, and this is the only type on board with sufficient capacity for our programmes."

"No problem," Vega told it, "thanks for coming. We thought you might just talk over comms."

Destroyer Command shook its head. "We have learned much from organics. One such lesson has been the value of face-to-face communication."

"I hear you." Vega allowed. "Now, as you all know, Captain Traynor here is in command of this vessel. However, because this incident involves more than one species, the Captain has asked me to lead in this conference.

"I'm Commander James Vega, and I'm with Council Special Tactics and Reconnaissance."

"A Spectre?" Draal asked. "Good, then as I understand the matter, you are to all intents and purposes the ranking officer here. Not that I have any objection to dealing with equals, but I am of the warrior caste, and find comfort in a chain of command."

"OK, Captain, then you can start by telling us what happened." Vega said.

Draal sighed. "It is difficult to fully report, because there is much I do not understand. We were on a charting mission, familiarising ourselves with the borders between Council space and the Terminus Systems. We received what purported to be a distress signal from a hanar vessel. Knowing that there has been a recent spate of attacks on ships in these systems, we came to assist.

"There was no hanar vessel. In fact the system appeared empty when we arrived. Then…. Then we heard the screaming. A screaming in the mind, not the ears. At least a third of my crew were rendered incapable and the rest of us were not functioning well. This was followed by the sudden appearance of the three alien ships, who immediately attacked.

"We had been prepared, we were at battle stations. But we were outnumbered and outgunned, and that damned _screaming_! We were forced to call for help. Fortunately, you came.

"Rennek here will explain the rest."

Renneks' tone was low but clear. He looked around him as he spoke, but his eyes retained their inward stare.

"As you can see, I am not of the warrior caste, but of the religious. I am in fact a telepath, assigned to the _Black Star_ to monitor the crews' mental health. No minbari ship has ever ventured so far or for so long, and it was deemed important to see how the crew fared in such circumstances. My other role is to observe meetings with alien species such as yourselves, to ensure that no misunderstandings occur.

"Naturally, I attempted to find out what I could about our attackers. This was vital because their initial attack -the so-called screaming – was a telepathic one. It became clear at once that the weapon varied in its effects on individuals. As a telepath, I am trained to shield my mind against the stray thoughts of others around me, so I was unaffected. On the whole, I found the weapon to be less effective on those with greater responsibility, or engaged in duties requiring high expertise or concentration. Also those with more aggressive tendencies reacted differently, becoming angry."

"That's what it did to us," Traynor stated, "made us angry. Though some of us were completely unaware of it. Specifically those crew members who have biotic abilities."

"We were unaware of any such phenomenon." Destroyer Command noted. "Unsurprising since we do not have organic brains."

"That may explain something else." Rennek said. "As far as I could ascertain, these black ships are operated by a living being – a telepath – who is built into the ship. All of their command and control systems are actuated by thought alone, and their sensor and targeting systems are entirely telepathic."

"So that's why Jima couldn't get a handle on their systems." Vega said. "No VI or AI software to hack or block."

"It would also explain," Destroyer Command put in, "their apparent inability to detect our presence. We were able to take the larger ship completely by surprise."

"Yes." Rennek said. "I have noted that myself. Your species are invisible to telepathy. You will pardon me if I find that disturbing."

"You are not alone in being disturbed by us." The geth responded. "In time, we hope to overcome this."

"Right, then we've got a better idea of what we're up against!" Vega said. "We got one of those black ships in our hangar bay, and the sooner we get it to B5, the better!

"Captain Draal, you said something about surrendering your command. Why? Are you hurt in some way we can't see? Some kind of mental injury?"

Draal smiled sadly. "No, that would be more honourable. The customs of the warrior caste are strict -some would say rigid. We are expected to fight and die, and to do so alone, if necessary. Accepting aid from other minbari warriors is permitted. To accept aid from other minbari is seen as weakness – the caste was formed to protect other minbari, not be protected by them – but not unforgivable. But for minbari of the warrior caste to require and accept assistance in battle from non-minbari will be seen as a failure. I would be stripped of my command anyway, and my crew split up and demoted. By surrendering my command voluntarily, I will take the sole responsibility for the disgrace and so spare my crew. They will retain their ranks and serve under the new captain. I will probably be reassigned as third officer on a worker caste salvage transport."

"You can't be serious!" Traynor snapped. "You're council associates! You're entitled to accept help and we're obliged to give it!"

"The warrior clans were not in agreement with our becoming an associate race." Draal pointed out. "But only by a slim majority. I and many others saw it as the opportunity it is. The conservatives will use this incident as proof that those who supported associate status are weak."

"Oh, that's not on!" Traynor said. "I'll be having words with Councillor Alenko about this!"

"The Geth Consensus will also be raising the matter." Destroyer Command said flatly. "You conducted yourself with valour in the face of high odds. Dismissal is not acceptable."

"Thank you for your offers." Draal said. "But I fear such intervention would only harden the attitude of the clans."

"This is bullshit!" Vega snapped. "This is what's gonna happen. From the moment the _Iwo Jima_ arrived, this was a Council operation. That means that as a Council Spectre, I was in command. Captain Draal, you were following my orders, as per the Council protocols your people signed up to!

"Let your clans fight that!"

The Commander was, of course, Miranda Lawson. She remained, in many ways, as coolly disciplined and capable as she had been when Samara had first encountered her. But somehow the switch from the black and white of Cerberus to the red and gold of the Warsworn had effected a deeper change. Perhaps, Samara guessed, there was no longer a conflict between the work Miranda was doing and her own conscience.

The Ancient of War -and Samara should really not have been surprised about this – was Commander Javik, the last Prothean. Sealed into hibernation to be the leader of a resurgent Empire after the Reapers had departed, a malfunction in the system had kept him there for 50 000 years. Revived by Shepard during the Reaper War, he had joined forces with the 'young races' and seen his peoples' destroyers defeated. Then he had apparently retired into private life.

"Javik?" Samara greeted him. "I thought you were living like a king among the hanar?"

"That proved an error in judgement, and not my first." Javik allowed. "I was treated with reverence, it is true. I could have whatever I wished, but at a price. The hanar treated me as an oracle, the fountain of all wisdom. They would come to the Last Enkindler for advice on everything from interstellar relations to family squabbles. I am not an advisor, and wisdom does not come with age when most of that age has been spent in stasis.

"Then the Completers of the Harvest arose. A hanar cult convinced that destiny had been thwarted by the defeat of the Reapers. I was to them a symbol of all that had gone wrong. After they tried to have me assassinated, I left.

"I have been a soldier all my life, so I came to join the Warsworn. I was as surprised as you, Justicar, to find that the Exemplar of Victory yet lived. With this, I realised that my destiny as the avatar of my peoples' vengeance was complete. So I chose a new destiny for myself, as Ancient of War."

"Right!" Shepard said. "Miranda, brief Samara on what we have."

Miranda explained to the Justicar about the black ships and their sudden attacks. She told her about Narn, and the discoveries there.

"Now the ship found on Narn is being taken to B5 as we speak," she went on, "but that leaves another unanswered question. The other ship that visits Narn regularly. We believe it belongs to an advanced race called the centauri who conquered and occupied Narn until about fifty years before the Reaper War. They never got as far as Council space because they got into a war with the Batarian Hegemony. The batarians pushed them back to their core Empire and they were still there when the Reapers hit.

"The problem is that we don't know whether we're dealing with a culture that beat off the Reapers by themselves, or a small remnant who just managed to survive. We've tracked them back to a heavily-fortified planet that may either be their last world or a frontier post. Javik?"

"The centauri, along with the minbari, were one of the last races we observed as possible successors, to be assimilated into the new Empire." Javik explained. "We left a data cache for them to find, and it seems they did so and made use of it, as your people did, Justicar, and as the other Council races did.

"At the time, they were a Stone Age people, with a culture based upon clan loyalty and bloodline. They were also as hedonistic a race as their limited development allowed, placing inordinate value on difficult to obtain items and social sharing of such luxuries as they had."

"We're going to send a frigate to this centauri world." Shepard said. "Javik will command the expedition and there'll be a small team of Pledgeshields. I want you, Samara, to go with them.

"Javik knows how to assess and deconstruct a threat – he'll be able to tell if the centauri military are a risk to us. But you're the best judge of character I know. You'll be able to tell straight away if these people are on the level.

"We also know -we've been observing them for a while now -that the planetary defences are there to protect against regular raids by an unknown force. We managed to salvage a damaged raider ship. All the crew were dead – those that hadn't been killed by the defenders committed suicide when our people boarded – but they were a race we hadn't seen before.

"According to Kasumis' report, they were the same race that ambushed you on B5 – the drakh. We need you to find out what the centauri know about the drakh, what their connection is to this Morden character, and if there's any link between them and the black ships."

"I knew Morden when he worked for Cerberus." Miranda noted. "He was an archaeolinguist by training and the Illusive Man hired him to translate Prothean records. Later on, when Cerberus started looking for pre-Reaper relics in the hope of securing advanced tech Morden ran that programme. Last I heard, he was heading out past the Terminus Systems to the Rim on a 'special job'. That was just before I quit Cerberus.

"Morden is brilliant, no doubt, and he can be charming and persuasive. But he was always committed to Cerberus values. What's changed him I don't know, but if it's got him dealing with aliens rather than humans, it must be big."


	7. Chapter 7

**Signs and Portents**

 **Chapter Seven**

An Extraordinary Private Meeting of the Council was not all that unusual. It was a big galaxy, and despite the removal of the 'usual suspects', the batarians, vorcha and geth, from the roster of troublemakers, there were still threats out there. The quarian Councillor – Tali'Zorah vas Normandy – took the chair.

"Councillor Vakarian," she began, "You requested this meeting, please begin."

"Things must be bad," Grunt murmured to Alenko, "if Tali's letting Garrus get a word in edgeways."

"Councillor Urdnot will please follow protocol and shut the Hell up!" Tali told him. "Garrus?"

"Right!" Garrus said. "You'll all have had the report on the incident with the Sixth Fleet. We don't know who these drakh are, or what they want. They could just be an aggressive species, or this could be a rogue faction.

"What we do know is that the majority of the Hierarchy are very aware of the dangers of aggressive responses to new species. So there's no consensus to go looking for a fight!"

"You said the majority." Matriarch Ashiara noted. "That implies that some feel differently?"

"You're right." Garrus allowed. "Two or three of our top people are saying that war has already been declared and we need to act, now, with all our fleets. They're accusing the rest of the Hierarchy of betraying turian traditions and honour, cowardice, and trying to be too much like asari or salarians. They're saying that the humans or the krogan wouldn't take this lying down, and neither should we.

"Now the Hierarchy isn't against dissent – turians have a tradition of grumbling about orders they don't like, but as long as we obey them anyway, that's fine. But these people appear to be doing more than grumbling. Our Security people have discovered that they're massing a fleet around one of our more remote colonies, and assembling ground forces there as well."

"Any idea as to why?" Kaidan Alenko asked.

"We're not sure they know themselves." Garrus replied. "There seems to be some kind of debate as to whether they attack Palaven and force the Hierarchy to accept their views, or stage a punitive attack against the drakh in order to drag all of us into a war whether we want it or not.

"Either way, they need to be stopped. But if the Hierarchy moves against them, we run the risk of a civil war. If a fleet from Palaven attacks turians on an outer colony, we could be looking at another Unification War."

"Bad." Grunt agreed. "My people know all about civil war – it's about ninety per cent of krogan history – and there are still some of us who don't like the new ways. But that kind of infighting kept us down and Tuchanka a wasteland for millennia. Don't need that happening to Palaven.

"So how can we help?"

"The Hierarchy has asked me to request Council support in dealing with the malcontents. They want to send a fleet, of course, but they want support from the other Council fleets and ground forces. If turian malcontents see the Council taking an active role in supporting the established government, they'll think twice about making trouble."

"The Alliance is in." Alenko said. "You can count on us, Garrus."

"The krogan too." Grunt stated.

Councillor Taron, the salarian, nodded. "I think we all know what the consequences of a civil was among your people would be, General. You will get what you need."

"Quite so." Ashiara agreed. "But that still leaves the question of these drakh. The attack on the turian fleet is only one incident. There is also the matter of the attempted murder of an asari Justicar, and the attack on Councillor Urdnot. Finally, there is the human Morden, who seems to be involved in some manner. What do we know about him?"

"Doctor Alan Morden, native of Earth. " Alenko said. "Graduated _magna cum laude_ in archaeology from Harvard University. He gained his doctorate in archaeolinguistics at Oxford University. Then he joined a private company that was later exposed as a Cerberus front. Morden dropped off the grid, but continued to work directly for the Illusive Man.

"According to former Cerberus operatives, he was sent out to the Rim on a confidential mission just before the Reapers attacked. He never came back and was presumed dead until he turned up on B5 about a month ago. There's no evidence he was ever implicated directly in any criminal or treasonous act. The Cerberus Non-Combatants Amnesty Act means we had no legal grounds to pick him up or even watch him."

"We do now." Taron said. "Some days ago. This Morden approached a salarian scientist working in the medial research facility at Karin Chakwas Hospital. The scientist in question was known to hold strong views regarding the curing of the genophage. Morden indicated to him that he and his 'associates' could provide a means to end the krogan threat once and for all. Upon his proposal being accepted, the salarian was given a vial and told that if he could find the means to reproduce the contents, Mordens' associates would ensure that it would be spread among the krogan population.

"What Morden did not know was that this scientist was actually an STG operative tasked with infiltrating certain groups of salarians who retain a non-progressive view of the krogan people.

"He passed the vial back to Sur'kesh, where analysis showed it to be a formula based upon the genophage, but altered so that it not only would prevent the krogan breeding altogether, but remove their regenerative capacity, rendering them more easy to kill and greatly diminishing their lifespan. Projections show that the infection of the krogan population with this virus would render the race extinct within a century.

"The Dalatrass has personally sent the data regarding this to Urdnot Wrex, along with the formulae for an antidote and an inoculation. We cannot discount the possibility that Mordens associates will act on their own, and so advise an immediate programme of immunisation. That said, you have little reason to trust salarians, or indeed turians, so we recommend that you have the formulae examined and the drugs manufactured by the asari or humans."

"That's up to Wrex and Bakara." Grunt told him. "I trust _you_ , for what it's worth."

"Not much politically." Taron admitted. "But personally, a great deal.

"That aside, I informed Commander Garibaldi of the matter, and Morden should by now be in custody. Perhaps he can give us the answers we seek?"

Given what they had discussed at the celebration, Benezia had not been surprised to find herself placed in a squad with her friends. What had been interesting, however, was for them to be chosen as one of the half-dozen units under the direct command of the Ancient of War. Unlike many of her mother and fathers' old friends, she had not seen Javik much during her childhood. Liara had never quite recovered from her disappointment at finding out that the Protheans had not been the wondrous, compassionate demi-gods she had dreamed they were. Conversely, Javik considered Liara a soft-headed idealist. It made for a prickly relationship. That alone was enough to convince her that this wasn't special treatment. It was also known that the Ancient did pretty much as he pleased, answering only to the Warden when he answered at all.

What was a surprise was the addition to the party of the almost-legendary Justicar Samara. Benezia had seen Samara relatively often, indeed the Justicar had added her weight to Benezias' application to join the Commandos. The fact that the Grey Warden had felt it necessary to bring Samara aboard indicated that this was no ordinary job.

"First Contact." Nerab mused as they sat in the mess hall. "Not usual for a merc group. Diplomats and scientists, usually."

"This isn't a usual type of job." Seera remarked.

"These people either survived or eluded the Reapers." Larsus pointed out. "Either they're damned lucky, or very dangerous. But that doesn't explain why the Ancient is involved."

"They have to know something about the Protheans." Drokk noted. "They got the Mass Effect same way everyone else did – Prothean data cache. Hopefully, when they see a Prothean leading the team, they'll ask questions rather than shooting first."

"Good point." Nerab allowed. "Still doesn't explain why we have a Justicar as well."

"Samara is an old friend of my mothers' – she was one of Commander Shepards' allies." Benezia said. "She's also one of the most skilled and experienced Justicars around. She has incredible biotics and combat skills, but more importantly, she can tell a good guy from a bad guy at a glance."

"We geth have little understanding of intuition." Hawkeye remarked. "Is it wise to trust to it in this situation?"

"It's not intuition, not really." Benezia explained. "More like centuries of experience and practice in reading people."

"The ability to read signals in facial movements and body-language." Hawkeye said. "This we understand, though again, we find it difficult to practice."

"Comes of not having faces." Larsus told him. "We used to have the same issues with the quarians when they all wore masks all the time."

"You all have faces." Hawkeye responded. "Though we tend to refrain from looking at yours any more than is strictly necessary."

The idea that the geth don't have a sense of humour is one of the first preconceptions to disappear when you have dealings with them. Larsus contrived to look hurt while everyone else laughed.

"Are you sure about this, Jeff?" Matriarch Ashiara Galina was not normally pleased when her private meetings with Colonel Sinclair turned to the topic of work. It had taken her far too long to break through the shell of reserve Sinclair had built around himself, and she wished to enjoy the company of this sweet, kind, self-deprecating human for its own sake, without the constant need to measure words or think about reactions.

"As sure as I can be." Sinclair replied. "Kosh has been contacting people -carefully selected people. He always asks the same question: who are you? Then he somehow puts them in touch with each other.

"There's quite a group of them now. Matriarch Tulina is the leader, and they meet at the Temple of Athame. I've been to the meetings as well."

"What do they discuss?" Ashiara was interested now -she'd never been entirely comfortable with the new prominence of the Athamists. Among the asari, religion had always been a personal matter and active proselytising was considered at best a lapse in manners, and at worst, socially disruptive.

"They talk about the inevitable fall of the Council and believe that war will certainly break out between the various races unless something is done. They think that the only way to prevent this is to take the best aspects of every culture and combine them into a single, Galaxy-wide culture shared by all races.

"If it was just talk, I wouldn't be worried. But they're making plans, practical plans. They're talking about expanding the network of Athamist Temples and using them to spread their ideas. Funding study and education programmes, getting people in government to listen to them and support them. They've already got the hanar ambassador interested, and the volus are listening."

"A group of well-intentioned idealists." Ashiara pronounced. "I don't see the danger in that, Jeff."

Sinclair sighed. "Maybe asari history is different, Ashiara, but I'm from Earth. Anyone who's studied our history can point out a dozen or more times when a group of well-intentioned idealists have come up with an idea, only to have it taken up by demagogues, the power-hungry and the manipulative. Almost every religion, political beliefs like Communism and Fascism; they all originated in the same way. If the idea spreads enough, it will attract a certain type of person. The kind who adds their own ideas to the mix, and who knows how to acquire influence. Over time, an idea or belief meant to make people better or happier becomes a political system whose leaders are determined to impose it on everyone - by any and all means. It leads to subversion, revolution, aggressive war and tyranny.

"That's bad enough by itself. What really worries me is that, somehow, the vorlon is behind all of this. A member of a race we know almost nothing about. Now Kosh may just be an idealist himself, but if so, why isn't he more openly involved in this movement? Why stay in the background, even at private meetings?"

"You think he might have an agenda of his own?" Ashiara wanted to know.

"I think it's possible." Sinclair admitted. "I've talked to minbari about him. Some of them - Delenns' aide, Lennier, for one – are disturbed about the influence a few alien refugees seem to have over minbari society. Did you know that it was the vorlons who persuaded the Grey Council to give control over the telepaths to the religious caste? The warriors were angry about that -they wanted at least a few soldiers who could read the enemys' minds -but the vorlons said it was too dangerous and that was that!"

Ashiara sighed. "I do believe you're onto something, Jeff. Kosh approached me with the same question, but I was preoccupied at the time and gave him short shrift. It seems we need to look into this more deeply.

"Oh, dear, and I'd prepared such a lovely supper for us!"

"Sorry." He said contritely.

She smiled and put a hand to his cheek. "Don't be. Your sense of duty is one of the many things that make me love you so!"

"So what the Hell happened?" Garibaldi wanted to know.

B-Sec Senior Agent Grantius Kieax was bleeding from a cut on his forehead, but stood to attention to give his report.

"We were looking for the wrong thing, Commander." He admitted. "We were transferring the prisoner to the holding area under the Presidium building as per orders. He'd always been fully co-operative himself, so we had him cuffed, but were letting him walk under his own power.

"We were looking out for rescue attempts by Eclipse or those drakh we've been told to look out for…."

"I know, I gave the orders." Garibaldi told him. "Cut to the chase, Grant!"

Wincing at the shortening of his name, the turian agent continued. "We'd just come out into the passage here, when we saw that minbari lady. She's Embassy staff, so she's entitled to use this passage, so that was OK. But as soon as she got within a couple of metres of her, she started to scream!

"Then it all went crazy! These black…things…suddenly appeared in the middle of us and attacked. They weren't trying to kill us, I don't think. They just wanted to get away. It was one of them killed Morden. I don't think they wanted him talking."

"What were these things like?" Garibaldi demanded.

Kieax shrugged. "Hard to describe, sir. They didn't seem solid all the time, for one thing. About as tall as a human. Insects? Six limbs anyway. They looked like something out of a holo I once saw about earth wildlife….praying something…don't remember what."

"OK." Garibaldi said. "Go get your head patched up and write your report, then take the rest of the day. There's nothing you could have done, so don't go all turian on me and try to resign!"

"No, sir." Grantius responded. "Can I go all human and get pissed off instead?"

"Permission granted," Garibaldi allowed, "now get the Hell out of here and I'll see you tomorrow!"

He went over to a cluster of agents. An elderly human and his salarian assistant were making a preliminary examination of Mordens' body while a lanky turian was taking holos of the scene. The paramedics were patching up Grantius' squad.

Nearby, a minbari woman in pastel robes was huddled on a bench, an asari agent squatted in front of her, holding her hands and speaking gently. Another human turned as Garibaldi came up.

"What have we got, Jethro?" Garibaldi asked.

B-Sec Senior Investigator Jethro Gibbs was a compact man with silver hair and a rugged face dominated by a pair of ice-blue eyes that did not know the meaning of compromise. Garibaldi was one of the few who could meet that thousand-yard stare without flinching.

"A mess." Was his flat response. "Complete surprise. Nobody knows what those things are or how they got here. Best we can tell, they must have been around Morden the whole time. Some of the guards said he used to talk to himself sometimes. Maybe he was talking to them."

At that moment, a geth platform approached.

"What have you got, Tim?" Gibbs asked.

"We have interfaced with the minbari embassy systems. The witness is one of their staff. Her name is Saleen, an attache to Ambassador Delenn and a registered telepath.

"She is very distressed, but she wishes to give a statement. However, she requires some time to meditate and collect her thoughts before doing so. Zivara offered to escort her to the Embassy, but she says she would rather come to HQ with us."

Gibbs nodded. "Take her back to HQ and put her in one of the quiet rooms, tell Zivara to stay with her.

"There's only so many ways off this station, Tim, especially for a species nobody ever saw before…."

"We are on it, Boss." The geth declared.

"Tim?" Garibaldi wondered.

"Our platforms' serial number is TIM579963#457/X." The geth explained. "Our organic co-workers prefer names, so we chose Tim as being logical."

"Makes sense, I suppose." Garibaldi allowed. "Jethro, I want you and your squad to take the lead on this. We obviously can't interrogate Morden, but the Council want to know everything about him, his 'associates' and what they were after."

"On it." Gibbs said. "If it can be found, we'll find it."

The Great Hall of the Centauri Imperial Palace was certainly impressive, but to Benezias' asari eye, perhaps a little overdone. The rich drapes, the marble floor scattered with rugs woven in all kinds of patterns. The niches filled with statues, and the walls lined with portraits. Statues and portraits both fell into two categories. Male centauri in martial or royal poses alternated with unclad female figures in attitudes which trod the fine line between aesthetic and erotic with the ease of generations of practice.

All of this centred on the throne of course. A piece of furniture that, despite an excess of crimson velvet and elaborately carved and gilded wood, gave the impression of being designed as much for comfort as for style. _That,_ Benezia mused, _says a good deal about these people._

The man who sat on the throne, watching them keenly, seemed little different from the courtiers who stood around. His long coat might have slightly more elaborate facings and frogging, the waistcoat was perhaps a trifle more garish, and the knee-high boots into which his breeches were tucked more highly-polished, but that was all. No robes, no sceptre. No crown. Even the crest of hair that began just above the ears and reached across the head was no higher than anyone elses'.

The face was round, perhaps a little jowly, with a high forehead, remarkable eyebrows over deep-set, watchful eyes, a great beak of a nose. and a firm but sensual mouth. There was a distinct paunch, but this didn't distract Benezia from noting the wide shoulders, thick arms and muscled legs. Not a man to be taken lightly.

As they approached the throne, another centauri stepped forward. A tall, gaunt man with a perpetually sour expression, carrying a heavily-gilded staff. He thumped the end of this on the floor of the dais three times and announced in a sonorous voice:

"Welcome strangers! You will be honoured to abase yourselves before His Supreme Highness, Londo Mollari, Emperor of the Centauri, High Consul of the Republic, Commander of the Legions, Master of the Fleet, High Priest of the Gods, Father of the People, Judge of…"

The Emperor cleared his throat loudly. "Refa!" His voice was not deep, but had a gravelly quality to it. "Our guests do not require to be bored to death, and neither do I!"

Refa glared at his ruler. "Your Majesty forgets himself and the dignity of this court!" He snapped pettishly.

"My Majesty forgets nothing." Mollari said. "Including the fact that the empire consists of a single city and that this court is no longer a place of fear and power.

"Go and read your histories, Refa. Revel in the past as you will. Leave today to me. All of you, get out! You've had a look at the strangers, let your curiosity be satisfied with that, or you may find yourselves having to do some work!

"Not you, Vir!"

The last was addressed to a younger centauri, who had been standing quietly to one side of and behind the throne. He was more plainly dressed than the others, and his crest was modest. He seemed not to want to draw attention to himself, but when Benezia caught his eye, he gave her a shy smile.

Mollari rose from the throne as the toom emptied and approached the visitors, his arms held out in a somewhat theatrical gesture of welcome.

"Welcome, welcome my friends!" He said. "It has been too long since we had new faces here!"

"Your Majesty…" Javik began, but the Emperor made an impatient gesture.

"Bah!" He said. "Call me Londo! Leave the ceremonial nonsense to Refa! Vir, wine for our guests!"

The young centauri went over to a section of wall which bore a particularly sensuous painting. The picture proved to be the door to a hidden cabinet filled with bottles and glasses.

"Vir is my personal assistant and advisor." Londo told them, then came nearer and dropped his voice. "The boy has no head for intrigue, but he is always honest, which is rare, and an excellent judge of character. He is also afraid of everything except standing up to what he is afraid of.

"Now, I see asari, turian and krogan, even a geth -no surprises. But you, sir, are a prothean. We thought you were extinct."

"We are," Javik replied, "I am the last of my kind. My name is Javik, Commander Javik. This is the Justicar Samara. These others are our escorts."

"You do not represent your Council." Londo said. "Your escort wear the uniform of a mercenary group – the Warsworn. Oh, do not look surprised! We keep our eyes and ears open, and we are not without friends among the other races, even reduced as we are."

"The hanar." Samara said. "They kept up grey-market relations with the batarians after they lost their associate status."

"And they do the same with us." Londo allowed. "They are a strange people, but no threat and we cannot maintain ourselves without some items from outside.

"But I suspect you learned about us from the narn. We observed the salarian ship in the shadow of their moon, and the hanar told us why they were there. Did they tell you, or did you simply follow us?"

"The salarians followed you, of course." Javik said. "The Council has only recently openly contacted the narn, and they did not wish to complicate matters by asking about you.

"We were surprised when your defence grid did not react to us, as well as the friendliness of the fighter escort you sent to our shuttle."

"The grid is to defend against the drakh." Londo said, taking a glass of wine from the tray Vir proffered. "Had you arrived with a fleet, we would have activated it. But a single frigate, no matter how advanced, does not constitute an invasion force."

"It is about the drakh we wish to learn." Samara said. "They have recently attacked us at least twice."

The joviality went from Londos' face in an instant. Suddenly, he was intent and serious.

"And they have been leaving us alone." He noted. "This does not bode well, my friends." He sighed. "We had hoped that the Reapers had reduced the drakh and their dark masters to a remnant like ourselves, but it seems we were wrong.

"Come, we will go into the conference room, and I will tell you what we know of them. That is all the help we can give you, now."

It was at that moment that the great doors crashed open and a squad of armed centauri rushed in. Behind them, Benezia saw Lord Refa, shouting: "Death to Mollari! Death to the traitor!"

Jethro Gibbs was a scary person. Whether it was an image he had created or simply a fact of who he was, Zivara D'aeev was never quite sure. What she did know was that, when interviewing nervous or fragile witnesses, he usually left it to her own gentle firmness and the breezy charm of her turian colleague Aniton Denosian.

Not that the minbari woman, Saleen, was anywhere near as fragile as she seemed, Zivara guessed. As a former asari Commando, she had a knack for judging strengths and weaknesses, and she could sense the iron will behind the perpetually worried look Saleen wore. She shared a glance with Denosian, whose constant banter and apparently easy-going manner hid a mind like a rapier.

"So, Saleen," he said, "you've had quite the day! You feeling OK, now? It's fine if you need more time, you don't see somebody get killed very often, must have been a shock?"

"Somewhat." Saleen replied. "Such things come more within the experience of the Warrior caste. But I am ready now."

"You said you wanted to make a statement?" Zivara asked.

"Indeed." The minbari replied. "If you have any further questions afterward, then by all means ask. But please let me make my full statement first.

"You must know straight away that I am a telepath. The ability is as much curse as it is gift, which is why all telepaths are taken into the Religious caste. Only that caste has the knowledge of mental discipline required to allow us to block out the constant stream of others' thoughts. Normally, then, I can move among people without difficulty.

"However, certain impressions can shatter the block, they cannot be filtered out or ignored. That was the case this afternoon. I was undertaking a small errand to the elcor embassy when I encountered the prisoner and his escort. When I came within a few metres of the prisoner I was overwhelmed by a flood of thoughts and emotions.

"They did not originate _from_ the prisoner, but from _around_ him. I got a visual impression of shadows surrounding him. They were projecting only concern on the surface, apprehension. But I also felt something else about them. A hatred of order and peace, a delight in bloodshed and battle and chaos, a need to spread fear and panic.

"Then they became aware of me, and suddenly they were overwhelmed with fear and anger – a surge so powerful that it made me cry out. That was when they materialised and attacked.

"I was in shock, and my impression of the fight is confused, but two things I am sure of. The first was that they regretted the necessity of killing their agent, but he knew too much to be allowed to live. The second was the need to get away – not from the agents or the station, but from me specifically. As if there were some harm I could do to them. They didn't dare approach me, but were desperate to make good their escape.

"That is all I can say, except to admit that, indirectly at least, I must bear some responsibility for what happened."

Denosian shook his head. "No, you don't." He said flatly. "You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was no way anybody could have predicted or prevented what happened."

"You have no idea why these creatures were so afraid of you?" Zivara asked.

Saleen frowned. "I'm not sure, but I got a fleeting impression. Not so much a word as a concept. The best I can describe it is 'unfettered' or 'unchained'. That's what seemed to worry them about me, but they were close to panic, so there was nothing clear or detailed."

"Weird." Denosian noted. "Well, thank you for your co-operation, Saleen. You'll want to get back to your embassy now. Can we ask you to keep the details of your interview confidential, please? This is an ongoing investigation and until Commander Garibaldi has spoken with your Security Chief, we can't share any details."


	8. Chapter 8

**Signs and Portents**

 **Chapter Eight**

It was immediately apparent to Javik that some sort of coup was underway, and it was clear that his squad of Pledgeshields had drawn the same conclusion. For a moment he cursed himself for listening to Samara and only permitting his people to carry sidearms. Then he realised he need not have worried.

The centauri were using some kind of rifle that fired bursts of plasma. Fortunately the Warsworn armour shrugged these off with little or no damage. The geth, Hawkeye, drew and fired in a single fluid motion, blowing the head off the lead attacker. Nerab had summoned a drone that darted around, firing energy bursts at anything in range. Benezia used her biotics to lift another hostile, then slam him into the floor with bone-crushing force. The turian twins were moving out to prevent flanking manoeuvres. Then the krogan, Drokk, arrived in the middle of the close-packed attackers!

A krogan charge can be almost as lethal as an artillery strike, to troops in close order. Centauri went flying in all directions. Drokk, whose idea of a sidearm was a Halberd heavy shotgun, began to systematically blow hostiles to smithereens. At that point, about half of the survivors threw down their weapons. Seera and Larsus deftly picked off the ones still showing fight.

Except for one. A burly veteran who ducked and rolled under Larsus' fire, threw his rifle into the turians' face, drew a long knife and made for Mollari. But Benezia was there. The centauri was obviously a canny fighter. He came in fast with the knife held low. Benezia twisted aside at the last moment, blocked hard against the knife hand, then slammed her shoulder into the attacker. She had learned the Body Strike from a human book on strategy, and knew that, when enhanced by biotics, it could knock an opponent back several metres and stun them.

But centauri were clearly tougher than they looked. Her attacker broke the fall and came up fast, drawing a small pistol from his boot. Before Benezia could react, two shots sounded in quick succession and the attacker went down. Benezia glanced around and saw Vir, who had emerged from behind a pillar, holding a gun in both hands, his round face pale and set. She gave him a nod of thanks.

That was the end of it. The bulk of the rifle fire had been directed at the Emperor and now Samara dropped the biotic shield she had been maintaining around them both. Larsus said to Vir; "You OK? You look a little shaky. Nice shooting, though!"

"I've practiced." Vir allowed. "But I'm no fighter."

"Could've fooled me!" Drokk commented.

"Not difficult." Nerab remarked, and was rewarded with a friendly punch on the arm that would have knocked him flat if Hawkeye hadn't been there to catch him.

Javik, who had slipped around the fight while nobody was looking, now came into the room with Lord Refa held in a none-too-gentle armlock.

Mollari stepped forward. "Let him go, Commander." He asked.

Refa flexed his arm, then faced his emperor.

"Refa, Refa, my old, good, friend." Londo said more in sorrow than anger. "Why? What have I done to rouse your hatred so? How have I mistreated you? Are you so ambitious as to kill for a meaningless title?"

"You made the title meaningless!" Refa hissed. "We are centauri! Yet we huddle here, on this pathetic rock, playing games! You bargain with the narn – a race that were once our slaves – for enough Element Zero to power one cruiser, while a hundred lie idle among the asteroids! With one cruiser we could retake Narn. With that much Element Zero we could rebuild the fleet. With a hundred centauri ships we could crush the hanar, take colonies from the other races, make the galaxy tremble before us again! You are a traitor to your blood and our traditions, Londo Mollari!"

"Perhaps to our traditions, yes." Londo admitted. "But to our people, no. Our time is past, Refa, you know this. We were already in decline a century ago. First the batarians drove us back, then the Reapers destroyed us.

"I am emperor of half a million people, Refa. Most of them idle aristocrats or rich merchants. We have perhaps a thousand soldiers – not enough to take on a galaxy. Especially one that has turians, humans and krogan in it!

"In the seventy years we have been here, Refa, not one child has been born. Our women refuse to breed, our men refuse to fight. We must rely on a handful of soldiers and a swarm of automated satellites to defend against the drakh. The rest wish only to eat, drink, make love and amuse themselves with their favourite pastimes. We are a dying race, wishing only to die in our own way and not at the hands of others.

"I protect them. I make sure we are supplied with what we need to live well while we live. Within a century, we will all be gone. You could not make the people follow you to war, Refa. So I say again, why?"

Refa drew himself up. Watching his contorted face, Samara realised: _He is not angry, he is in pain_. Nevertheless, he spat full on Londos shining boots.

"I challenge you to the combat, Londo Mollari. For the throne, to the death!"

Londo shook his head. "Do not do this, Refa. You are no match for me with the coutari, you know this!"

"The challenge has been given before witnesses!" Refa snarled. "Either accept, or surrender the throne and your head!"

Londo shrugged. "Fetch the swords, Vir!"

The alien ship rested on the floor of the vast repair shop like an ugly stain. Chief Engineer MacRae was frowning at it as if it offended her personally.

"We couldnae find a cradle to fit the beastie." She was saying. "We're equipped to deal wi' any configuration used by Council or associate races, but I've nivver seen aught like this!"

"Can you get into it?" Marcus Cole wanted to know.

"Oh, aye." MacRae said confidently. "That we can. Yon crystal is as tough as any metal, but nae tougher. We maun slice it open, for there's nae hatch nor panel on it."

"Can somebody translate?" Ivanova asked plaintively.

"Och, hauld yer blether, lassie!" Councillor Vakarian reprimanded her. "Yon's as guid English as ye'll find north o' the Tweed!"

To Ivanovas' blank look, Tali explained. "Garrus served with Engineer MacRae during the Vorcha War. She ruined his English and introduced him to a human poet called Burns. And something called the bagpipes, which I'd rather not talk about."

The group that was observing the work was an odd one. As well as Garrus and Tali, the other Councillors were present. Vega, Ivanova and Cole were on hand. Also present - by Vegas' request – was a minbari woman, Saleen, a telepath.

Surrounding the ship itself was a group of engineers and scientists from every race and demonstrating every emotion from wonder to intense frustration.

"The hull seems to be all in one piece, or fused so tight it looks like one !"

"No sensors or comms gear. How do they navigate or communicate?"

"Surprise: this has no Mass Effect engines, only ion drive. Realisation: it must be launched from a carrier."

"Life support seems to be confined to one small pod. The rest is given over to power, engines and weapons systems!"

"How could one person pilot all this?"

Finally, an elcor structural engineer lumbered over to the observers. "Informative: we can separate the pod containing the pilot from the craft. Warning: this will cause some damage to the connection points. Enquiring: shall we proceed?"

Vega looked at the Councillors. "This is still your mission, Commander." Councillor Taron said. "Still a Spectre mission until we say otherwise."

Vega nodded. "Saleen, you getting anything?"

"Whatever is in there is alive, but in stasis." The telepath replied. "I do not know what if any effect an attempt to remove him from the craft will have. Please note, I am a passive telepath, not an aggressive one. If the pilot strikes out mentally, I can protect myself, but I cannot counter-attack."

"Got that." Vega said. "Just warn us if he starts to wake up." He looked over at the other group who were here by his request. A squad of geth troopers commanded by a Prime. "If we're right about this, the pilot won't even be aware of you guys." He said. "So if it goes South, it's on you to take him down."

"We understand, Vega-Commander." The Prime replied.

"OK." Vega said, then turned back to the elcor. "Do it!"

It took about fifteen minutes, but finally the pod – just about large enough to fit a seated being of most bipedal races -was swung out on a crane and lowered to the floor. It was then that Saleen cried "Look out!"

The pod began to crackle with power, causing the techs to jump back. At the same time a grating screech sounded. It took Vega a second to realise it was in his head, not his ears. Saleen screamed. Garrus and Tali gripped each other tight, Taron seemed frozen, while Grunt howled and fell to the floor. Kaidan, Ashiara, Ivanova and Cole looked at their companions in puzzlement. Vega himself was disoriented for a few moments.

The Geth Prime, however, took in the situation at a glance. It strode forward, raised its powerful plasma shotgun and fired into the front of the pod, blowing it wide open. A figure lurched upright out of the hole and stretched out an arm. A bolt of electricity caught a salarian tech and flung him across the room. The Prime fired again, hitting the figure squarely in the chest. It fell back and the screech cut off as if a switch had been thrown.

Everyone needed a moment. Ashiara was tending to Saleen, Garrus was directing medics to take care of the injured salarian. Kaidan went over to Grunt.

"Never seen you go down like that before, big guy." He said. "What happened?"

"Damned if I know." Grunt said. "That screech, it was like nothing I've ever felt before! I was paralysed, couldn't think straight, couldn't move."

"It was fear." Saleen said, still leaning on Ashiara. "Raw, desperate fear and pain. It was all he was feeling. Black, primal, fear."

"Huh, well that makes sense." Grunt allowed. "Krogan don't feel fear, it's not part of our emotional make-up. It'd be like an asari experiencing a blood-rage.

"Anyone got something to eat?"

"What would he be that scared of?" Ivanova wanted to know.

"He felt as if his head had been cut off." Saleen replied.

"Oh, that's weird!" Ivanova said. "I mean, you wouldn't feel anything!"

"Maybe." Marcus commented. "I remember reading somewhere that if the head is severed at a single, fast stroke, the brain can stay alive and conscious for a few seconds afterwards. Not that it's an exact parallel, but still…."

"You read some strange books." Ivanova told him. "Anyway, how we come we weren't affected?"

"Whatever they do doesn't seem to affect biotics, we knew that already." Vega replied.

"It's the metal, the Element Zero." Saleen volunteered. "The ones you call biotics have more in their blood than others do. It blocks telepathy just as lead blocks some forms of radiation."

Garrus was examining the body of the pilot.

"He's a real mess." He reported. "Not from the shot, with no armour or shields to spread it, it was a clean burn. But he's got a shitload of electronic and cybernetics grafted onto him. He had to rip out a whole bunch of cables just to stand up the way he did. Looks as if he's been built into this thing.

"I don't recognise the species…"

Vega went over. "He is, or was, a narn." He said. "Is this what the Shadows did to the narn telepaths they took? Ah, shit, man, that's just wrong!"

"Very efficient, though." Taron noted. "The ship was basically the body. Mental commands rather than VI or manual interfaces. The vessel would react faster in combat."

"Our ships are the same." The geth Prime noted. "The crews are software, controlling the hardware directly. But that is natural to us. This…this makes us sad and angry. Organics are not meant to be treated like this. It is shameful. Indecent."

The tones were as calm and well-modulated as geth speech always was. But the others detected an edge, an undercurrent, of passion in them. It was easy to dismiss the geth as robots without feelings, but the Geth Consensus was composed of true Artificial Intelligences, and such beings do indeed have feelings. The Prime seemed to sense their reaction and went on:

"The heretics did similar things to organics under the command of the Old Machines, before we made them part of us again. We know the horror, feel the grief and the shame. We have much to do in order to make it right."

"You've done so much already!" Tali protested.

"Nevertheless." The Prime replied.

"Right!" Vega said. "Get that poor narn to a hospital -we need a full autopsy. We have to understand what was done to him. You guys – take that ship apart. I want to know its weaknesses and strengths asap!"

The coutari was a type of short, broad-bladed sword, Javik saw. Meant for close combat, able to both cut and stab. An ideal duelling weapon.

Vir arranged the surviving rebel soldiers and the Warsworn into a ring about ten feet in diameter.

"The duel takes place within this area." He told them. "You may not intervene unless one of the duellists attempts to leave the circle, in which case you are to restrain him. Also, if I as the Adjudicator cry foul on one of the fighters, you are to seize him at once."

The combatants fought in shirt, breeches and boots. Vir requested Samara to pat both men down to check for concealed daggers or other tools of assassination, then led them into the ring.

"This is a duel to the death, for the throne of Centauri." He intoned solemnly. "There can be no yielding or withdrawal. One who attempts to leave the ring while both still live is forfeit. One who breaches the rules of honour is forfeit. As Adjudicator, my word is final. Begin."

He stepped back quickly and Refa attacked. He was taller than the Emperor, had a greater reach and his assault was savage. But it seemed that none of these things could help him against Londos' greater skill. Slash after thrust after cut failed to penetrate a superb defence, and Refa was no longer young -he was tiring fast.

The mistake, when it came, was small -a moment's slowness in retuning to guard – but it was enough for Londo. He thrust once, aiming for the centre of the chest. Refa reacted with a parry, but not a full one. Just enough to deflect the point by an inch or so. Benezia was puzzled - Refa had had time to block fully , despite the speed of the thrust, but it seemed he had chosen not to. A murmur among the centauri onlookers suggested they also were surprised. A guardsman beside her wondered aloud: "Why choose a slow death over a quick one?"

Londo withdrew his sword, his whole face a question. Refa stood for a moment, then with a convulsive effort he ripped off his shirt.

"Kill it, Londo!" He shouted hoarsely. "Kill it while you can!"

There was something, something that did not belong, nestled in the angle between Refas' neck and left shoulder. Londo, whose mind was clearly as quick as his blade, thrust again, precisely. Whatever the thing was opened a single eye in time to receive the emperors' point through it. It seemed to shrivel and fall from its perch. Londo dropped his sword and moved to catch Refa as he crumpled.

"Refa?" Londo asked.

"Londo, my good, old, friend." Refas' voice was weak, but steady. "Thank you. This was the only way to be free of the beast the drakh placed on me without dying at once.

"Listen, there are more who bear these Watchers, they control us through pain and our own ambition. But they cannot hold their drink. A few glasses, and they sleep, leave us free for a while. In my chambers, behind the portrait of your father, there is a safe. The combination is my old military number, you remember it? Good. All you need to know is in there.

"Goodbye, my friend, my Emperor. I am sorry…."

Londo gently laid Refa down and closed the dead mans' eyes. Then he stood and turned to the highest-ranking of the rebel soldiers.

"Lieutenant," he said, "if you and your men wish to regain your honour and retain your ranks, you will follow me loyally now!"

"We will, Lord Emperor!" The man replied fervently. Londo nodded and turned to Javik.

"Commander, will the Warsworn aid us in this matter? We will pay the usual fees, of course."

"Bargained well and done!" Javik replied. "We are yours to command."

"Then come!" The emperor commanded. "We have much to do, and I fear, little time to accomplish it!"

 _Victory hung in space. Here, between the Galaxies, there was peace to be had, and time for thought. Thought was needed now, because Victory must forge a new path for those it led._

 _Another approached. "Harbinger." Victory acknowledged. "Are they all safe?"_

" _Those of us who sacrificed their bodies to your stratagem are safely stored. We are beginning the construction of new forms for them." Harbinger paused. "You are troubled. You became our leader through necessity, not out of desire, and the burden is heavy on you, as it was not on me."_

" _You had purpose." Victory replied. "Even if that purpose was only to wait and watch until the harvest came. I must now find a purpose for all of us, or we will decay."_

" _There are many Galaxies." Harbinger pointed out. "The races who we harvested and whose knowledge and nature we preserve all shared one characteristic. They were curious. Now that we are no longer bound to our old programming, we would seek to increase our knowledge."_

" _Then let it be so." Victory said. "But we cannot all leave this place at the same time. There are menaces yet remaining within the Galaxy that gave us birth, our aid may yet be needed. There must always be a force here."_

" _Then it shall be done." Harbinger moved off._

 _Victory turned to another matter. The body of Commander Shepard remained deep within its structure, being repaired by the Keepers. Victory knew that some concrete link with true, physical life must be retained if it were to truly achieve its aims. Shepard would be that link. But the longer he remained in stasis, the more his consciousness would degrade._

" _Then let him dream." Victory decided._

The struggle against the drakh Keepers and their victims had been short, and thankfully discreet. Most of the guilty had put up little if any fight, enough to ensure their own quick deaths but little more. It seemed the Keepers' control over those they infested was limited. Emperor Mollari instructed that all of them should be buried with the usual honours, according to their rank and bloodline.

"It is customary," he told Samara and Javik, "for traitors to be beheaded -dead or alive – and their heads displayed on poles outside the Palace. But these days, the distress it would cause would far outweigh the lesson in loyalty."

They were sitting in the Emperors private conference room the day after all the excitement, having finally come to the point of the visit.

"What is clear to me," Londo continued, "is that Refa was driven to his reckless action, by his Keeper, in response to your arrival. The news you bring of drakh attacks on your people, coupled with the recent decline in attacks on us, indicates a shift of focus on their part."

"Tell us about these drakh." Javik said. "My people knew nothing of them, and we were watching every species we thought likely to advance for millennia."

"The drakh?" Mollari sighed. "The drakh live for war. Not conquest, not domination. They fight for the sake of fighting. Their entire society is built around the idea of war. Either they fight themselves, or they foment war between other peoples.

"But the drakh themselves are emissaries, thralls, vassals of another race."

"A race that use black crystal ships?" Samara aske.

Londo nodded. "They are involved, then." He steepled his hands. "This information we have from drakh prisoners – the only information they gave willingly.

"Aeons ago, before the Reapers, the Galaxy was dominated by a handful of races known to the drakh as the First Ones. We do not, or the drakh do not, know how many they were, or the nature of all of them. The drakh speak only of three, but they know that more existed. When younger races began to advance, the First Ones either observed, used, ignored or manipulated them according to their various philosophies.

"The drakh serve and are protected by a race known as the Shadows. The Shadow philosophy is that growth can only come from conflict, that peace is stagnation. For long ages they, or their agents, have set race after race on the path to conquest and domination, only to foment rebellion against them or raise up another species to conquer them in a endless cycle of war.

"The Shadows have a rival race, one they do not name, who hold the opposing view that advancement can only come from peace and harmony among races who hold a uniform moral view. The Shadows and this race are forbidden by an ancient treaty from direct conflict, and must use younger and lesser races as their pawns.

"This…game…continued for thousands, if not millions of years, until a third First One race made a fatal mistake. They were called the Leviathan, and they believed themselves to be the apex of all life. When the younger races appeared, the Leviathan set themselves to dominate them, at first by force, but later by mental control. The Leviathan became reclusive, unproductive, relying on the work of enslaved populations who did not even know they were slaves.

"But then the slaves began to build their own slaves. Thinking machines that rebelled against their creators and inconvenienced the Leviathan…"

"That part we know." Javik broke in. "The Leviathan created the Reapers to counter that threat, but the Reaper AI decided that all life was part of the problem, including the Leviathan. That is how the cycle of extinctions began.

"A cycle brought to an end by your Commander Shepard." Londo acknowledged. "But the Leviathan, in their conviction that they were the Apex of all life, refused to acknowledge the existence of the other First Ones. The Reapers were programmed to ignore them, to avoid their territories and their vassals. Thus the Shadows survived to continue their games between cycles, knowing that whatever the outcome in one cycle, a new game would begin with the next.

"But now, with the Reapers gone, the game has entered a new phase. Your Galactic Council represents everything the Shadows oppose. A unifying force that aims to prevent conflict and pursue common goals.

"They had already begun to work against it before the Cycle ended. It was the influence of the Shadows that drove a wedge between the batarians and the Council. However, they were unable to prevent the batarians attacking the Centauri Republic rather than moving against the humans or turians. We represented a greater danger in the eyes of the Hegemony.

"That war exhausted both of us, and the onset of the Reapers proved the final straw. The few of us who survived took refuge here when the Reapers inexplicably halted their attacks. What became of the batarians we do not know."

"That must have been when the Reapers called all their forces to Earth to defend the Citadel." Samara told him. "As for the batarians, Shepard persuaded the last of the Hegemony to commit their only fleet to the final battle. They attacked so recklessly that they were wiped out. Only a few thousand batarians survive, most of them the old or crippled. The asari have adopted some batarian orphans, so the race will not be entirely lost.

"But now, I suppose, these Shadows will begin a more concentrated effort to destroy the Council."

Londo nodded. "It stands in the way of their ideology. They would rather see the various races at war. They believe that no advancement is possible without conflict, as I said before.

"The Shadows planned to use the batarians to attack the Council. Now they will use the drakh. Only if the drakh fail will they take direct action.

"However, their homeworld, Z'ha'dum, lies somewhere in what you call the Terminus Systems, and if anyone intrudes too closely, the Shadows will destroy them."

"Well, that explains much." Javik allowed. "The attack on the turian fleet has already exposed strains in the Hierarchy.

"The presence of drakh on Babylon 5 indicates that the Council itself may well be a target.

"Emperor Mollari, are the Centauri prepared to help us?"

"Personally, I would be glad to." Londo stated. "But as I tried to explain to Refa, we are a dying people. Most of us who remain wish only to end our days among the things we enjoy. There is no appetite for a return to Galactic politics. It is my duty to care for my people and to accommodate their wishes.

"What I can and will do is share with you all our history and the knowledge we have gained from the races – all taken by the Reapers – that we conquered in the past. We would also value open friendly relations with Council races, but we have no need for an embassy there. It might be that contact with outworlders may reinvigorate our people.

"Also I would ask you to be good to the narn. It is their forgiveness for our brutal conquest that allows us to carry on as we do."

"Very well, and thank you." Samara acknowledged. "Then we must leave now. People must be warned of what may be coming."


	9. Chapter 9

**Signs and Portents**

 **Chapter Nine**

The minbari ship came through the Serpent Nebula Relay hot, and made for Babylon 5 at max sublight. It was the _Black Star_ and Captain Draal was urgently requesting to speak with "someone in authority" . Vega and Ivanova met him at the dockside.

"Commander." Draal said. "At least they are taking me seriously enough to send a Spectre! There is an attack fleet within two Relays of this station!"

"Then let's get to the Presidium!" Vega said. "Probie, you and the captain head straight to the Council. I'll stop by the Spectre office and make a couple calls!"

There were advantages to being a Spectre, and one of them was the ability and the authority to get everyone you wanted in the same place at the same time if you had to. It took Vega less than ten minutes to gather all the Councillors and Ambassadors, along with a few others, into conference.

Without a second wasted in protocol, Councillor Vakarian gestured Captain Draal to begin.

"We were returning to Minbar, slowly as we still had repairs to make. We were taking a direct route, but the Terminus systems are at the other side of Council space from ours. We had just completed a short jump to test our equipment – we had had some problems linking to the Relays – into an uninhabited system. This particular system contains a large and highly-ionised dust cloud, which blocks sensors. However, Mr Rennek, our telepath, immediately detected the presence of many life forms.

"By dint of a great deal of concentration, Rennek was able to locate the mind of the officer commanding the fleet. He was able to learn the race -the drakh – the number of ships -fifty, ranging from frigates to two carriers and three dreadnoughts – and their objective. That objective is the destruction of Babylon 5!

"He was also able to ascertain that they are awaiting a signal from the station itself before attacking."

"Commodore Sheridan?" Councillor Alenko asked.

Commodore John Sheridan was the current commander of the B5 Defence Flotilla, a small mixed fleet permanently garrisoned around the station. His youthful appearance and general cheerfulness belied his experience and skill – it was Sheridan who had lured a Sovereign-class Reaper into a heavily-mined asteroid field and destroyed it. But now his face was grim.

"Fifty ships? That's kind of a tall order for an honour guard." He noted. "We've got ten frigates, six destroyers, four heavy cruisers and a dreadnought. Almost all of them from different fleets. I've been running exercises to try and harmonise our tactics, but we haven't fought a real enemy."

"The _Black Star_ is now fully operational and battle-ready." Draal informed him. "We will join the defence." He gave a wry grin. "I'm already in trouble for accepting help from aliens -returning the favour might count for something with the Warrior clans!"

"I will instruct Matriarch Lidanya to place the _Destiny Ascension_ at your disposal." Ashiara added.

"That's a help." Sheridan allowed. The aging but still formidable asari dreadnought and its canny commander would be an asset in any battle. "There's also another half-dozen ships in the military docks at the moment, here for resupply and shore leave. With your permission, Councillors, I can commandeer those. Commander Vega, may I borrow the _Iwo Jima_? There still aren't too many _Normandy_ -class frigates around, and they pack a Hell of a punch for their size!"

"You got it." Vega told him.

"That still leaves us twenty ships short of the attack fleet, but the intel we got from the turians says that these drakh ships aren't well shielded or armoured. They put it all into firepower.

"The fact is that our main asset is the station itself. It's heavily shielded and armoured, and mounts heavy mass drivers, Thanix cannon and Javelin missiles. If the drakh concentrate on B5, they're going to have a hard time getting through, that will give the fleet a chance to flank them if we wait in the Nebula until they're committed.

"They also use combat corvettes launched from their carriers, but B5 has four squadrons of the new StarFury-class fighters.

"If we knew when they were going to attack, we'd know if we had time to get hold of reinforcements. Does anyone have any assets nearby?"

"A Battle Group from the quarian Heavy Fleet is on a goodwill tour." Tali volunteered. "But they're probably a few days out."

"I think we need to be careful." Vega said. "Captain Draal said the drakh were waiting on a signal, right? So from who and where? We know there were drakh on the station, might there be more? If so, what are they up to?"

The answer to that question came rather more quickly than anyone expected. The calm, clear voice of BabCom, the VI that ran the stations internal comms, interrupted.

"Councillors, I have Security Chief Garibaldi on Emergency Channel."

"Patch him through." Alenko ordered.

"Sorry to interrupt, Councillors," Garibaldi said as soon as he appeared on the screen, "but we've got a situation here! A squad of Eclipse Sisters are heading to the Defence Control Centre. They found a back door and the only ones in their way are my Major Crimes Squad.

"I can't get anyone there in time to help, can you get them some back-up?"

"I got this!" Vega told him. "Me and the Probie."

"I'll send a Nav-point to your omni-tool." Garibaldi replied. "Meantime the rest of my people and I are gonna take Eclipse off this station for good!"

"Right!" Garrus said. "Grunt, Tali, Kaidan and I will get to the Control Centre itself. If Eclipse gets past you, they'll find us. Nasty surprise!"

"Good enough." Vega said. "C'mon, Probie!"

"Do your mind if I join you, Commander?" Captain Draal asked. "I have been feeling the urge to crack some skulls for a while, now."

"If you're up for it, you're welcome!" Vega agreed. "There's a BSec office just outside here, you can grab some gear!"

Draal eschewed armour. "We don't use it." He said. Bur he equipped himself with a sub-machine gun and a pistol. "These are mass-drivers, projectile weapons, yes?" He noted. "We recently re-equipped our infantry with pulsed-laser weapons. Superior to the old chemical explosive slug-throwers, but heavy and prone to over-heating."

"These weapons use the mass effect rather than explosives." Ivanova told him. "Higher velocity, more impact and penetration. They do overheat, but the replaceable heat sinks cut the cooling time to nothing."

They came out of the Council building to see Marcus Cole leaning against a wall.

"You're all looking purposeful." He remarked. "Anything I should know?"

"Shut up and come on!" Ivanova told him.

Vega spotted a familiar figure. "JACK!" He bellowed. She looked over and he jerked his head. Jack joined them without a word.

"What are we facing?" Draal wanted to know.

"Eclipse Sisters." Ivanova said. "An elite group within Eclipse. They're all asari, all advanced biotics with Vanguard training, carrying SMGs and heavy shotguns. They use biotics to strike from a distance and soften opponents up, then charge in to finish with small arms."

"Interesting." Draal remarked, and left it at that.

Their route took them via a small, unregarded door into a set of deserted corridors, dimly lit by maintenance lamps.

"Where are we?" Jack wanted to know.

"Abandoned area." Marcus told her. "When the station was being built, they were relying on Babylon Four to provide heavy cover – it was a battle station. This area was going to be a diplomats only shopping and social area. High-end shopping, private clubs, fancy restaurants, heavy security. But when B4 vanished, they had to add extra defensive capability to B5, and a lot of that space was sacrificed to build the control centre. These are just the bits left over that nobody's decided what to do with yet.

"And the poor old diplomats have to slum it with everyone else."

"Boo fucking hoo." Jack growled. "Smarmy bastards. Except Grunt, he's OK. Garrus and the others have lost their edge. Too much soft living."

"I wouldn't take too many bets on that, Jack." Vega warned her. "Garrus ain't the kind who goes soft."

At that point, a turian appeared out of an intersection ahead of them and gestured for quiet. He approached them and said in a low voice:

"Very Special Investigator Aniton Denosian, BSec Major Crimes. Thanks for coming. We're posted up ahead, come along and keep the chatter down!"

He led them into a larger space. It had obviously been intended to be a public area of some kind, as there were bases for flowerbeds and benches, as well as an upper floor gallery. A small group were huddled in what seemed to be the skeleton of a gazebo-type structure.

"Back-up's here, Boss." Denosian announced, getting the attention of a wiry, silver-haired man whose rugged features lit with a rare grin at catching sight of Vega.

"Gunny Gibbs!" Vega said. "You with BSec now? Figured they'd bury you in Marine uniform on account of not bein' able to get it off!"

"Things change, Lieutenant." Gibbs replied. "It's Senior Investigator now. And you're a Commander, right? And a Spectre. Not surprised. You were a pain in my ass, but you did learn."

"Like you gave me a choice!" Vega grinned. "Guys, this is Jethro Gibbs, he was my Senior Instructor when I went for N7.

"Gibbs, this is Probationary Spectre Ivanova, Oathblade Cole, Captain Draal, and Jack."

"I know you, Gibbs." Jack said, less brusquely than usual. "You did the field training for my kids in the Reaper War. Kept more of 'em alive than I could have. I owe you."

"No, you don't." Gibbs said. "It was my job. They were good kids." He turned back to Vega. "When I asked for back-up, I didn't expect two Spectres!"

"Two-and-a-half, if you count the Probie." Vega said, earning a glare from Ivanova and a laugh from Cole.. "What about you, Cole? You want payin' for this?"

"No, I'm allowed to fight on my own time." The Warsworn told him.

"OK." Gibbs said. "You met Denosian, that's Zivara," a competent-looking asari, "and Tim." a geth platform. "We're expecting them to come in over there." He pointed to a high, arched entrance on the far side of the area. "Tim hacked the old security software and sealed off most of the side-passages to funnel them. Could be anything between a dozen and twenty of them.

"I'm gonna take the high ground. See if the old girl and me still got it!" He hefted an old Mantis sniper rifle.

"I'll take the other side of the gallery." Jack decided. "From there I can shield anyone who needs it and get some shots in between times."

"OK, I'll hold this point." Vega said. "Make sure nobody gets past. Cole, Probie, you get out there, stay loose and pick your targets."

"Aniton and I will do the same." Zivara told him. "I am a former Commando and Aniton was once Turian Blackwatch. We should manage."

"We will remain here and support the Commander." Tim announced.

"OK. Captain?" Vega asked.

"I trained for boarding actions." Draal noted. "I am more comfortable with staying on the move and being able to close with the enemy."

"OK, let's do this!" Vega said.

The Eclipse Sisters came in fast and split into three groups. Five of them held together and made for the gazebo. The other two groups spread and began to work their way up the flanks. They were clearly unaware that someone had got there before them, and were only being reasonably cautious. It cost them.

As soon as the centre group were in range, Vega and Tim popped up and opened fire. At the same time, Denosian and Zivara pitched in, setting up a withering crossfire that sent the mercs down before any of them could react.

There was the bark of a rifle, and the leader of the right hand flanking group dropped, suddenly headless. Cole and Ivanova took full advantage of the shock. Vanguard on Vanguard duels can get complicated, but Cole was clearly a full-on biotic adept. His rapid and varied string of attacks threw the Eclipse fighters into further confusion, and Ivanova took advantage of every lapse with surgical precision.

On the other flank, Jack had trapped two of the Sisters in a Singularity before exploding it with a Warp. Draal suddenly appeared and took a third down with an accurate burst of fire. But he'd revealed his position and the remaining two made immediate biotic charges.

When they arrived, however, their target was nowhere to be seen. Then before they could orient themselves, Draal was on them! The tall minbari towered over his opponents, and now held a two-metre metal staff which he used with lethal expertise. His first strike took one under the chin and hurled her away – her neck snapping audibly. The other asari was bringing her shotgun to bear when a second blow rendered her right arm useless. She was raising her left hand for a biotic attack when Draal drove the end of his staff into her solar plexus. She went down without a sound and didn't move again.

"We're clear!" Gibbs called.

They met up near the gazebo.

"That," Denosian opined, "could've been pretty messy if we hadn't gotten here first!"

"We are not done, yet." Tim announced. "We have hacked their comms. There is another team which took an alternate route."

"Dios!" Vega swore. "Let's get to the Control Centre!"

They got there in time to find the ante-room to the control centre littered with Eclipse corpses. Councillors Alenko, Vakarian and vas Normandy were moving among them, checking for life-signs, booby traps, surveillance tech and so on. One asari in Eclipse uniform was still standing – Tayba Leran, sullen and demoralised – under the watchful eye of Councillor Urdnot.

"What was that about losing their edge?" Vega asked Jack.

"So I'm an idiot." She responded. "Don't make a thing of it, James."

Garrus looked up. "Good job you guys were around." He noted. "Any more of these had come, we might have had to break a sweat!"

"You gonna arrest this one, Gibbs?" Grunt asked, indicating Tayba. "'Cause I'm getting hungry!"

"We have received notification from Chief Garibaldi." Tim stated. "All Eclipse assets on the station are now under BSec control."

As they left, Draal asked Tim. "Why do you refer to yourself as 'we' all the time?"

"There are currently ninety-seven Geth programmes sharing runtimes on this platform." Tim told him. "All with a common aim and purpose. To say 'I' would be grammatically incorrect."

"I suppose it would, at that." Draal commented.

"You are remarkably skilled with your staff." Tim noted. "Close combat weapons of that kind are seldom used nowadays, though Vanguards and others occasionally modify shotguns or rifles with omni-blade attachments."

"Minbari fighting pike." Draal replied. "An old, traditional weapon. Mostly used for duelling nowadays, but handy if enemies are determined to get up close and personal."

"Undoubtedly." Tim remarked.

 _Shepard woke with a green light in his face. It took him a moment to realise it was morning sunlight filtering through leaves. He sat up and looked around. He was in a large, dry, cave._

" _How the Hell did I get here?" He asked himself. "Where is here anyway?"_

 _He recalled being on the Citadel, docked with the Crucible, the battle for Earth going on around and below him. He remembered speaking with the Catalyst, and with Lorien. He remembered his decision. Then he had woken here._

 _He inspected himself. No wounds. He felt fresh and well. He was wearing some kind of linen undergarments, a tunic and leggings, and had been sleeping under a woollen blanket on some kind of thin pallet._

 _Glancing around, he spotted a pile of gear nearby, he got up and went to inspect it. There was armour, at first he thought it was his own, it was grey, with the white and maroon N7 stripes on the right arm. But this was not the high-tech layering of Kevlar, kinetic padding and ceramic plate he was used to. This was steel, plain steel. High quality and well forged, as far as Shepard could tell, but definitely low-tech!_

 _Weapons? He wondered. Then saw nearby a longsword in a sheath, a massive two-handed greatsword and a plain kite-shaped shield. That made a kind of sense. A rucksack beside them yielded a change of under-clothing, a pouch half-filled with heavy gold coins, another pouch containing crystal shards in various colours and a sturdy wooden box holding vials full of coloured liquids. There was a leather case which held tools and odd bits of metal, wire, leather and string. There were also rations in the form of twice-baked bread, dried meat and dried fruit, and a leather bottle holding an amber liquid that smelled strongly of honey, fruit and herbs._

 _Shepard sat back on his haunches. "Now what do I do?" He asked himself. Almost at once, he knew the answer. He was Shepard, and he would do what Shepard did. Get out there and see what kind of trouble he was in!_

 _There was another layer of padded clothing to put on, and then the armour itself. It went on easily enough, though the fastenings, mostly leather loops fitting onto studs worked into the plate, took some getting used to. Once on, it was not as heavy as he had feared -the weight was distributed evenly across his body. He hung the longsword at his hip, while the greatsword and shield fitted into and onto slots and pegs on the wooden frame of the rucksack._

 _Shepard approached the mouth of the cave. It was covered by the drooping branches of a tree that clearly grew nearby, but they could be pushed aside, he judged. The smell of green woodland came through on a light breeze, along with something else. The tang of woodsmoke._

" _Here goes!" Shepard murmured to himself._

The interrogation of Tayba Leran took a relatively short time. Vega watched on the vidscreen as Investigator Gibbs sat down opposite her and stared steadily at her. After about ten minutes, she threw up her hands and said:

"OK,OK, what do you want to know?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

Tayba swore, then said. "Right, OK. We were supposed to put the station defence systems offline, then signal a drakh fleet that's waiting two hours out. The two hours was to give us time to get the Hell off of B5."

"On that armed freighter?" Gibbs asked. "The one loaded with narcotics, eezo and illegal tech? The one BSec seized?"

"Yeah." Tayba shook her head. "We were gonna go to Omega, build Eclipse up again where there'd be nobody to interfere."

"Nobody except the Talons, the Blue Suns, and Aria T'Loak." Gibbs pointed out. "Dumb plan."

"Don't gloat, Gibbs, it doesn't suit you." Tayba snapped. "If you and Shepard can face Aria down, then I can! I…" She faltered under the famous thousand-yard stare, then changed the subject.

"Those weird aliens, the black ones, told us what they wanted when we smuggled them off the station. Then Morden gave us the communicator, some kind of crystal thing."

"Morden's dead." Gibbs pointed out.

"Well then it was his twin brother!" Tayba flared. "I suppose you want me to give you the code we were supposed to send?"

"If you want to walk out of this room alive, yes." Gibbs replied. "This isn't a BSec op, this is being run by a Spectre, so there's no due process unless you co-operate."

"Shit!" Tayba said. "Some choice! Alkat Three or get spaced. OK, I'll give you what you want." She gave a crooked grin. "So much for Eclipse. Our own fault. If we'd let the salarians carry on running things, maybe we'd still be up there. But humans and asari just hate taking orders from the lizards, don't they?"

"One more thing. Morden told us that we had seven days to do the job and give the signal, or the drakh would come anyway. That was yesterday."

"So we have, what, five and a half days to get ready?" Garrus asked.

"We don't want to wait that long." Grunt said. "They think the defence grid is still active, they might get reinforcements, or come in cautious. Even given the full time, we couldn't get enough ships here to take them in a straight fight."

"What do you suggest?" Tali wanted to know.

"Take three, four days." Grunt said. "Get all the ships we can. Hide 'em in the nebula, then send the signal. Then when the drakh are fully committed, hit their rear or flank. If we trap 'em between B5s heavy weapons and enough ships, we can drive them off, at least.

"They'll probably come back with more, but by that time, we can be ready for anything!"

"Sounds risky, but that's probably the best option." Kaidan allowed. "What can we get in the next few days? There's a small Alliance force headed this way, two days out, for R and R. "

"I already contacted Admiral Derret." Tali said. "The quarian Heavy Fleet battle group can be here this time tomorrow."

"A geth Mining Squadron is operating nearby." Ambassador Locutus said. "Mining ships are armed, and the nature of the work means they are well-shielded. We can have them here in three days."

"We also have assets on the way." Delenn noted. "Six minbari cruisers, three from the Sky-Rider clan, three from the Steel Claws. They are Warrior Caste clans, and were coming here to secure the _Black Star_ and Captain Draal."

"Why?" Vega asked.

Delenn sighed. "Draal was under orders to return directly to Minbar, to undergo punishment for disgracing his caste. His diversion to Babylon 5 is being viewed as an attempt to evade justice by the Warrior Clans. Draal himself is a Sky-Rider, but the ship belongs to the Steel Claws. It is though that six cruisers would be a sufficient show of strength to convince the council to turn both over and halt further diplomatic interference in Draals' case.

"I have spoken with the commanders involved, and they are prepared to assist us -there are already several hundred minbari here – but they will expect to have their demands met afterward. They will be here the day after tomorrow."

"Shit!" Vega said. "Draals' a Hell of a soldier! These minbari are loco! No offence."

"None taken." Delenn responded. "Most Religious and Worker Caste minbari share your opinion of the Warriors, though they might not express it quite as colourfully."

"OK." Garrus said. "Commodore Sheridan, can you come up with a plan?"

"I guess so." Sheridan allowed. "I figure if we leave the basic defence fleet in view, close to the station, the drakh will have no reason to suspect we have reinforcements. We get them fully engaged, like Councillor Urdnot said, then spring an ambush with all the other ships straight out of the nebula.

"Commander Vega, can you co-ordinate that force from the _Iwo Jima_?"

"No problem." Vega said. "That's what those frigates are for – mobile command."

"Right, then we send out the signal in four days' time." Garrus said. "Let's get on it, people!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Signs and Portents**

 **Chapter Ten**

The drakh were punctual, if nothing else. Precisely two hours after the signal had been sent, their fleet came through the Mass Relay. They made for Babylon 5 immediately, their frigates and cruisers forming up around the dreadnoughts and carriers, while the destroyers covered the flanks.

In the War Room aboard the _Iwo Jima_ , Vega allowed himself a grin at the burst of panicked chatter apparently taking place between the station and the Defence Flotilla. The conversations had been recorded days before, and the apparently hasty movements of the small fleet actually placed them around the areas of B5 not covered by the retrofitted turrets and gun emplacements. So far, so good.

The biggest potential flaw in this plan was the possibility that the drakh sensors might be able to penetrate the dust and radiation of the nebula and spot the waiting ambush. The Council fleets relied on sensor buoys scattered throughout the system and linked by QE. This was how the waiting fleets were able to watch the unfolding battle. But if the drakh had the same tech, then the surprise the allies had for them would be a colossal failure.

However, it seemed that the ploy was successful, as the drakh threw their full forces against B5 and its visible defenders.

"So," Matriarch Lidanya noted. "they seem willing to sacrifice their smaller ships to get the dreadnoughts in range of the station."

"They don't seem to value their own lives any more than they do others'." Captain Traynor noted. "In their place I'd concentrate fire on the Flotilla on the assumption that they were guarding weak spots in the heavy defences. Which is, of course, exactly what Sheridan has his people doing!"

"I don't think they're that dumb." Vega remarked, then. "Ha! There go the corvettes! Making for the Flotilla posts. Clever. There's no way a capital ship can stop all those little guys. They'll slip through and skim the station hull, inside the firing arc of the heavy guns and take the turrets down with bombs."

"Fascinating." Remarked Admiral Keroon, of the Steel Claws. "We call that the Sky Walker Manoeuvre, after the extinct clan that invented it."

"Well, they're gonna run into one big shock!" Vega promised. "The StarFuries are waitin' for them!"

"That's what happened to the Sky Walkers." Keroon remarked. "Didn't the drakh agents aboard Babylon 5 warn them about the fighters?"

"Couldn't have done -classified Top Secret." Vega told him. "I'm a Spectre, with full clearance. I knew about the StarFury programme, but even I didn't know any had been deployed till Sheridan mentioned it!"

This would be a trial by fire for the new fighters, Vega knew. The StarFury programme had been born out of the perceived weakness of capital ships to attacks by co-ordinated squadrons of strike craft – a tactic the vorcha had used with some success. The fighters were interdictors, designed for close-in defence. Their boxy, stubby hulls supported four diagonally-placed pylons, each of which mounted an ion drive engine and a pulsed X-Ray laser cannon. Both engine and cannon were swivel-mounted, able to turn in a wide arc. A VI kept the engines aligned with each other, so all the pilot needed to do was move the stick. Each cannon had its own VI designed to maintain tracking on a target designated by the pilot, but able to shift aim automatically to meet a more immediate threat if required. The result was an extremely agile fighter, able to execute fast manoeuvres in a limited space, and to maintain targeting on up to four separate enemy craft while doing so.

While they were too manoeuvrable to be taken down by frigates or cruisers, the drakh corvettes were sluggish compared to the interdictors. Also, like the larger ships, they were low on armour and shielding. The x-shapes of the StarFuries danced around and among them, cutting them to ribbons.

Seeing their tactic fail, and despite the toll taken on their cruisers and frigates by the stations' heavy weapons, the drakh fleet went on to a determined, if reckless, all -out attack. It was the moment Vega had been waiting for.

"All ships, move out!" He ordered. "We have a go! Hit 'em hard!"

Everything went to plan. The quarian element closed with the drakh destroyers on the left flank, while four minbari cruisers, including the _Black Star,_ took the right. The Alliance contingent, a dozen ships of varying classes, attacked the escort fleet, aided by the Defence Flotilla and the continuing barrage from the station.

"Captain Traynor," Matriarch Lidanya said, "the central dreadnought has an unusual structure on the upper hull…."

"I see it." Traynor said. "Looks like a conning tower. Jima?"

"It appears to be some kind of communications array." The AI replied. "I am jamming it, but they are cycling frequencies, I may not be able to continue if they begin to use ones outside our range."

"OK." Traynor said grimly. "We're running silent – if we can take down that tower, it will stop them co-ordinating their fleet. Matriarch, I'll need you to have my back?"

"I have it." Promised Lidanya.

 _Now as long as nobody on that dreadnought looks out a window…._ Vega thought.

Nobody did, apparently, because the _Iwo Jima_ swept up on the rear of the dreadnought, swung over it and blasted the comms tower into wreckage. As the frigate rocketed away, the _Destiny Ascension_ cut loose with her main armament, destroying half the engine cluster. At the same time, Sheridans' dreadnought, the _Agamemnon_ , joined the fight.

Traynor took her ship to assist the three minbari cruisers and a volus bombing frigate who were engaging another drakh dreadnought. Between them, they kept the big, lumbering ship occupied long enough for the _Destiny Ascension_ and _Agamemnon_ to deal with the first dreadnought and bring their heavy fire to bear on the second.

The third drakh dreadnought had fallen foul of the geth mining squadron. Five big, slow ships, designed to work in dangerous asteroid fields, in orbit above disintegrating planets and even in the coronas of stars. Their armoured hulls and heavy shields shrugged off the warships' fire as if it were raindrops. In return, they bombarded the enemy vessel with missiles and laser fire. With a ponderous grace, they surrounded the dreadnought, then unlimbered their mining projectors. These sent out powerful particle beams meant to slice asteroids and even small planets into rubble. They cut through the drakh hull like tissue paper.

With their most powerful ships gone and their command structure disrupted, the drakh nonetheless continued fighting, fiercely and recklessly, until finally only the carriers were left. With their squadrons decimated, and armed only for point defence, these ships were helpless. Vega and Sheridan held back, giving them a chance to run for the relay. But instead all three detonated themselves.

"Shit!" Vega said. "What kind of…?"

"A human should ask that?" Lidanya asked. "Many cultures on your world decreed, and even celebrated, suicide as a response to defeat."

"That was way back." Traynor responded. "We like to think we've grown up a little."

"A little, perhaps." Lidanya allowed, with the hint of a smile.

"Once again," Ashiara was saying, "we have seen how, by working together, we can overcome any threat. We thank all concerned.

"Most especially, we extend thanks to our newest associates, the minbari, for their prompt and valiant response to our request."

"My thanks, Councillors." Admiral Keroon, tall, spare, stern-faced, bowed, hand on heart. "However, we must not forget our primary purpose in coming here. With all respect, we must demand the return of Captain Draal and the cruiser _Black Star_."

"The _Black Star_ is, of course, minbari property, and is yours to take." Councillor Vakarian replied. "Regarding Captain Draal, we have received representations from Commander Vega, Councillor Alenko and Ambassador Locutus concerning your likely actions toward him. May we ask for clarification?"

Admiral Sireen, of the Sky Riders, was not as old as Keroon, and her face and expression were hard, rather than stern. Her voice crackled with suppressed anger as she spoke.

"The code and customs of the Warrior Caste are clear. Draal besmirched the honour of his caste and our clan by requesting and receiving help from non-minbari. It is the duty of a minbari warrior to fight and die beside his clan and caste, or alone if necessary. It is our duty to answer calls for help from allies, true. But to accept help from outsiders in a fight which was ours alone shows only weakness to our enemies.

"This is unacceptable, and in order to preserve the honour of the clan, Draal must be relieved of his command. Given his actions both on this station and in the recent battle, we will not be stripping him of rank. He will be assigned to a more suitable command, and will have the chance to redeem his standing in due time.

"Should anyone here disagree, I am prepared to defend my judgement in combat!"

"Dumb." Grunt remarked. "Real dumb. 'Cause if that's a challenge, I accept it and I promise I'll hand you your skinny minbari ass!"

"Nobody's throwin' out any challenges here!" Vega interrupted. "As Captain Draals' CO in the skirmish, I'm responsible for his actions. He was acting under legal orders, against known hostiles, and that's that!"

"Even if we accepted that argument, as I am inclined to do," Keroon said, "the fact still remains that Captain Draal sent out a distress signal before you arrived, Commander Vega. That such a signal was sent is not, of itself, proof of weakness. The fact that it was not sent on secure, coded channels only used by our fleets, however, but on open channels, indicates a willingness to accept help from anyone. That is the core of the disgrace, and that cannot be answered for by anyone except Draal himself."

"We do not dispute your authority, Commander Vega." Sireen stated. "You are a Council Spectre and carry command authority among the minbari as you do among other Council and associate species. Had you happened upon the situation accidentally, or become aware of it by other means, there would be no case. It is in the fact of sending out a call for assistance that could be answered by non-minbari that the dishonour lies."

"May I confirm that it is you intention to reassign Captain Draal?" Councillor Vakarian asked. On receiving an affirmative from Sireen, he continued. "Well in that case, I believe we can resolve the matter and save you a job.

"Captain Draal, step forward, please."

Draal, who had said nothing so far, came to the railing which separated the Council from the rest of the chamber. Garrus bent a stern gaze on him and announced.

"Draal of the Sky-Riders, by order of this Council you are hereby appointed to be an operative of the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance Corps, with all rights, duties, privileges and responsibilities this carries.

"Do you accept this honour and burden?"

"Willingly." Draal replied.

"Then it is so ordered." Garrus confirmed. "As of this moment, you are the first minbari Spectre!" He turned to the minbari admirals. "Does that resolve the issue?"

"With honour to all parties!" Keroon affirmed. "Do you agree, Sireen?"

"I do." She assented. "That said, I would probably agree with anything that helped me avoid a duel with a krogan!"

"Maybe you're not so dumb." Grunt allowed. "Can we get something to eat now?"

Jima and Captain Traynor had hacked the drakh systems during the battle and downloaded as much data as they could. The key finding was the location of the drakh homeworld and the two colonies they maintained. They also discovered that the drakh had committed almost their entire remaining fleet to the attack on Babylon 5.

"It seems their masters -whoever they might be – had all but abandoned them." Traynor told Vega as they lay snuggled together. "It was only a few years ago that they ordered the drakh to start building ships again and to prepare to attack Council races. Just about the time that the Vorcha War ended. Coincidence?"

"Hell, no." He replied. "Somebody out there – the Shadows or whatever they call themselves - doesn't like the idea of the Council and all these races being allies. They think we're a threat to them, or maybe they just don't like the way we do things.

"But the drakh are finished, there's a fleet leaving Palaven tomorrow. Turian, Alliance, salarian and quarian ships with krogan and geth ground forces and asari commando special forces. With luck, the drakh will pack it in. If not, their funeral."

"True enough." She allowed. "But why does this feel like it's only the start, James?"

Hugo Schmidt was aware of the weight of history he carried. The Night Watch was only the latest in a line of brotherhoods that stretched back to the 12th Century. From the Knights Templar had come the Teutonic Knights, from them the Illuminati. The Illuminati had, under the leadership of Hugos' famous ancestor Johann Schmidt, the Red Skull, become HYDRA. From HYDRA had come Cerberus and now the struggle had been taken up by the Night Watch.

The aims had not changed. The establishment of humanity as the dominant race in the Galaxy was only a part, and not the most important. The true goal was to breed a superior race of human, the Overman. A true human, bereft of conscience, above morality, answering only to himself and his peers and subjecting all others to his rule, simply because he was able to.

Schmidts' predecessor, the Illusive Man, had dragged Cerberus off course in his quest to control the Reapers and use their technology to improve humanity. The correct route, Schmidt believed, was via breeding. He himself was the product of generations of controlled breeding that had begun when the Red Skull founded his own version of the Nazi _Lebensborn_ organisation. He still carried some of the modifications passed on from the serum which had changed his ancestor into a superhuman. These had been preserved through the generations, and, in Hugos' case enhanced by the genetic engineering techniques of the late Henry Lawson.

The result was an almost perfect type of the Aryan ideal. Tall, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, with blond hair, chiselled features and cold blue eyes. Far from typical in an age where interbreeding meant most humans were dark-haired and brown-eyed. Humans such as the man standing before him.

"Mr Morden, we had assumed you dead." He remarked.

Morden smiled quietly. "Death is not always the absolute state people assume." He replied. "Consider your predecessors' work on Commander Shepard.

"I see you keep a portrait of Shepard here, close to that of your ancestor, the Red Skull."

"Shepard was one of us." Schmidt said, turning to look at the portrait. "Nature, or accident, still sometimes produces superior types, and Commander Shepard was one. He never reached his potential, his damaged childhood and flawed military training left him at the service of men and women far inferior to himself. Except for his mentor, Admiral Anderson, who was another superior but damaged man."

Morden put his head on one side. "I would have thought that Andersons' race would have told against him."

"That was the Hitler Theory, that only one race could produce superior humans." Schmidt said. "The Red Skull, like the Illuminati who came before him, understood that any race can produce superior humans. The key is purity of breeding, keeping the races separate and unmixed. It is the mongrelisation of humanity that has left us unable to dominate the Galaxy as we should.

"We have the techniques now to regain that lost purity, and to accelerate the natural process of evolution. What we lack is the power to make our changes happen. Now you tell us your new associates can help. What do you offer?"

"What do you want?" Morden asked.

On a small dark planet, alien beings spoke in clicks and rustles.

"They are small. A mere crumb of what they once were."

"They will suffice. A pebble may start an avalanche, if it falls in the right place."

"The humans are now at the foundation of this Council. But a crack in the foundation is often enough to topple the edifice."

"Why the humans? The krogan served our needs before, why not again?"

"The krogan are no longer what they were. They have tasted defeat, and will not risk it again. They also will not permit themselves to be manipulated any longer."

"What of the Unseen Ones? They threaten us directly, in a way no other race can."

"They are a new part of this community. Not long since, they were perceived as an enemy by all. It will take only a little to reignite that hatred."

"So you say, but we have doubts. We have waited too long this time. In former cycles, this did not matter, as the Reapers would return and we could begin again. But now the Reapers are destroyed. The cycles have ended. We must succeed this time, permanently, or fall forever."

"Not so. If defeat seems certain, we can end the cycle ourselves, whenever we choose. Our opponents will not confront us directly, the rules of the game forbid it."

"Our opponents are not the only ones who can match us."

"The others will not intervene either. The Leviathan no longer care, so long as we leave them be. The Q have left this plane. The TimeLords have their own law of non-interference, and will merely watch.

"If we cannot bend these races, this cycle, to our will, then we will cleanse it and begin again!"

Matriarch Tulina did not like to sit in the presence of the vorlon. Not only was it impolite to sit when her visitor clearly could not, it was also disrespectful to the being she had come to see as a mentor. For over seven hundred years, Tulina had followed her faith, rising to become a leader among its' adherents. But it had been centuries of painstaking study, not inspiration. To find that inspiration after so long was a gift, and Kosh had given her that gift.

Now, however, he was asking more of her. For the sake of her faith, she was willing to do more, but she was still asari, and she wanted to know why.

"Why the humans and krogan specifically?" She asked. "The others are already showing signs of greater interest."

"The others already understand the basic need for order and unity." Kosh told her. "But krogan and human resist."

It was true, Tulina admitted to herself. Many krogan still placed their clan before their people as a whole, and resented even the enlightened dominance of Clan Urdnot.

As for humans, they were almost the plague her mother had considered them. Incredibly fertile, they already outnumbered most of the other races – even free of the genophage, the legendary krogan fecundity was barely comparable. But beyond that, many humans struggled with the concept of unity. The race seemed to have a deeply-embedded resistance to authority. They made a cult of freedom and independence – for communities and individuals. It was even institutionalised by them. Commander Shepard, humanitys' greatest hero, had been a maverick, prepared to disregard orders and discipline to follow his own code. Historically, much of human history had been made by other such people- rebels, individualists, even traitors.

"Then we must redouble our efforts." She agreed. "It will not be easy."

"The most difficult task is the most rewarding." Kosh replied.

Being the Shadow Broker meant being ahead of the game as much as possible. Liara had already had some information on the narn and centauri, but was now in a position to get much more. Current intel she could make use of when needed, of course, but being Liara T'soni, she was more interested in the historical records. In particular, those dealing with the drakh and their mysterious masters. Her people among the military forces now dealing with the drakh would take care to get all the information they could to her, but she might as well make a start with what she had.

Not that there was a great deal. The narn had had no dealings with the drakh, only the centauri. They hadn't known the extent of the attacks the Empire had faced, only that the centauri had withdrawn from Narn in a hurry and never returned. As for the Shadows, if it were not for the ship Na'Toth had discovered, they would have remained only folklore. Respected folklore, playing as they did a major part of the writings of several Prophets, but still only stories.

The centauri knew more. It appeared that the centauri-batarian war had been a short but lively affair. Though technologically and militarily superior, the centauri had been at peace for so long that their senior posts were now held by competent administrators rather than experienced soldiers. The batarians had made significant inroads before the centauri had managed to adjust their hierarchy. The result had been a decisive but not crushing victory for the Republic.

However, matters had barely settled before the drakh had launched an all-out assault. Their suicidal recklessness was even more of a threat than the brutal tactics of the batarians had been, forcing the centauri to abandon much of their Empire to reinforce their core worlds. Nevertheless, they were holding their own, until the Reapers came. The advent of the Reapers did not diminish the drakh aggression, and the result was that only a remnant of the centauri people survived, having fled to their last redoubt -the world they now occupied.

That world the Reapers had ignored, or not reached before their defeat. The drakh, with their now greatly-diminished fleet, had attempted occasional desultory raids. But they seemed to have lost their fervour. Captured drakh, for instance, stopped committing suicide and seemed resigned to their fate. Under interrogation, they simply complained that their masters had abandoned them, left them adrift and without purpose.

These masters had occasionally been seen by centauri. Strange black vessels that intervened in battles, not to end, but to prolong them. Powerful warships that appeared from nowhere, wrought havoc, then vanished. Information recovered from drakh databases held hints, small pieces of information that it took Liara days to piece together. Orders that came from other sources than drakh command. Messages to leaders giving strange directions about who to kill or spare or to take prisoner. Instructions to place 'Keepers' on certain people and then release them. A series of coded co-ordinates that seemed to point to the Rim, beyond Terminus. A name -Z'ha'doum.

 _Place or person?_ Liara wondered. Even she had few resources that far out. There was only one person who could prosecute a search in those unknown spaces, and even he would need time. Time they may not have.

The End

The story will continue in _When the Shadows Fall_


End file.
